Strangers Within
by Aerona
Summary: Her whole world had been destroyed by war. Now she must survive the island. Told from the POV of the only girl there... As faithful to the book as I can make it. Rated T for potential graphicness when Simon dies...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything by William Golding nor any characters from Lord of the Flies (though I wish I did). Kitty is my original character. OK? ON WITH THE STORY!**

**Ralph: What story? OH NO NOT ANOTHER FANFIC ABOUT ME AND JACK AND THE OTHERS! WHEN WILL YOU PEOPLE LEARN TO GIVE US A BREAK!**

**Aerona: Well, too bad! You are a LITERARY CHARACTER you know, so you have to put up with people like ME writing inane stories about you!**

**Ralph: (grumbles)**

**Aerona: Oh, and by the way, did you know that you symbolise democracy?**

**Ralph: Yeah, and Jack symbolises boneheadedness...**

**(Jack pops up)**

**Jack: What was that?**

**Ralph: Nothin'.**

**Jack: OK.**

**Ralph: (coughcoughboneheadcough)**

**Jack: WHAT WAS THAT!**

**Aerona: Oh, man. Jack, please don't poke Ralph with your spear...**

**Jack: And why not? I can do what I want! On the island I am KING!**

**Aerona: And I am the great and mighty FANFIC WRITER! I can make you do whatever I want! (Makes Jack wear a grass skirt and coconuts)**

**Jack: HEY! I look-**

**Ralph: Great! (stifles giggles)**

**Kitty: Look, can we just get on with the story? I think you two are doing this just to NOT make me get my nice prologue...**

**Ralph: Whatever!**

**Jack: Yeah, you're just an _original character _anyway.**

**Kitty: Hey, I may not have been in the original book, but I am a character too, y'know! Bonehead!**

**(sounds of a scuffle)**

**Aerona: Well, let me start this story now, while Jack tries to extricate his grass skirt from his spear...**

* * *

**Prologue**

Kitty stared with distaste at the suitcase neatly stacked in the corner of her room. The neat brown suitcase was emblazoned with labels of journeys past, plus one new one. Large and bold, it stood starkly out among the blotched, faded old labels.

_Ripon Grammar School._

That was where she was going by train the next day. Kitty sighed and brushed a stray wisp of dark hair out of her eyes. It was no use moping about it, it had already been decided.

"Kitty! What are you doing standing there? We've got your cake ready! Come on!"

Kitty half-turned as her seven-year-old brother, Donald, cannoned into the room and hurled himself at her, tugging at her skirt. "Come _on, _Kitty! Don't you want to see how Mother and I iced it?"

Reluctantly smiling, the girl gently disentangled Donald's clasping fingers. "Sure, Donny. I was just… thinking for a moment."

The lights were off in the dining room, and the cake dominated the table. Not much of a cake, it was true, but Kitty approved of the love that had been put into it by her family-it also had probably taken up the whole of the next week's butter ration. The flames from the candles flickered, reaching up to the ceiling and casting eerie shadows on the dim room. The cake had been fantastically iced by Donny, with the maximum of icing but the minimum of taste. Slightly lopsided, straggling calligraphy trailed across its surface, reading: _Hapy Birthday Kitty. Come Back Soon._

"Isn't it lovely?" Donald capered around the table. "An' I was really careful with the spelling, I asked Mother for _every single word_!"

Kitty neglected to mention the _hapy, _instead hugging her little brother and ruffling his curls. "It's wonderful, Donny! And I'll be back before you know it, you'll see!"

"Kitty…" Her mother stepped out from behind the table. Although her face was care-worn and her utility dress was faded, the flickering light from the candle flames did nothing except illuminate the love in her eyes.

"Happy birthday, darling." Kitty's mother held out her arms and her daughter gladly rushed into them. Mother and daughter held each other as if they would never let go.

"Mother-must I really go?"

"I think it would be for the best, dear. We all need a bit of time to get over-" Here she broke off and Kitty followed her gaze to the framed photograph of her father that hung on the wall. The picture had been taken the day before her father had left to fight in the war. He was standing, tall and proud, with his arms around Donald and Kitty, a fearless smile on his face, wearing his immaculate uniform. Had it just been yesterday, or years ago that he had hugged his daughter, told her not to worry, he would be back soon? How long had it really been since he had left to fight?

He hadn't come back.

Donny's piping voice broke into all of their thoughts. "Mummy-how did Daddy die?"

There it was again-the flash of dull pain that Kitty had noticed more and more often in her mother's eyes. She wanted to shake Donny for asking the question. A taboo had evolved around the circumstances of their father's death, and Kitty had always forestalled herself from asking about it. But now Donny had brought the subject up, Kitty couldn't help but be overwhelmed with curiosity. She knew nothing about it except the brown telegram that had arrived in the post one morning, and her mother's expression as she had opened it.

When her mother spoke again, her voice was husky.

"Your father was a very brave man. He died doing what was right-fighting against the Enemy. Always remember that and hold your heads up high, for you have a father who gave his all to our country."

An unbidden pricking behind her eyes made Kitty turn away. She knew that this was not the only reason she was being sent away. Apart from the pain, she had seen something else in her mother's eyes.

_Fear. She's afraid._

Kitty did not know why. Maybe it had something to do with the whispers, although the war against Germany had been fought and won, the rumours of more violence, the rumours that had the words "Russia" and "holocaust" inexplicably bound up with them. To Kitty, Russia was a long way away, and so was whatever trouble that was on the rise.

But that didn't explain why her mother was scared.

Her reverie was interrupted by her remaining family singing "Happy Birthday", Donny's piping, childish voice mingling with their mother's soprano.

"Happy birthday, dear Kitty,

Happy birthday to you…"

Willing a smile on her face, Kitty turned back to her family, determined to enjoy her thirteenth birthday, if only for her mother's sake.

* * *

The next day saw them at Paddington Station, Kitty dressed in her new school uniform of navy blue pinafore, grey school shirt and blue and grey tie. Her heart was thumping under the uniform. She had never been to Paddington Station before, and it was so big! Boys and girls in identical blue-and-grey uniforms milled around. Each of them looked like they knew exactly where to go. Kitty had the uncomfortable sensation that she was fading into a huge, roiling cauldron of people, all exactly the same as her, and no one would ever find her again. 

She gave herself a mental shake. _Don't be silly._

"Can you find your way from here, Kitty?" Her mother was trying hard to disguise the sadness in her eyes.

Kitty threw her arms around her mother. Donny wriggled into the middle of them for a family hug.

"Don't worry, Mother. I'll be fine."

"Bye then, darling."

As she watched her family walk off, Kitty fought the tears that were struggling to flow. To fight the misery, she turned her thoughts to more pressing matters.

_I lied just now, _she thought._ I have no idea where to go!_

She pushed her way through the chattering crowd, willing herself to notice something, anything that would point her in the right direction. A sigh escaped her lips as she realised that she was well and truly stumped.

"Lost?" Kitty whirled around, to find herself looking into a pair of warm brown eyes. She felt heat rise from beneath her collar and suffuse her face. Had it been _that_ obvious?

"I said, are you lost?" The boy who had spoken repeated his sentence. Fair hair framed an oval, friendly face and there was a smile dancing in his eyes, although his face was serious. To save her embarrassment? He looked around a year older than her, and was dressed in the boy's version of her school uniform. From the same school, then.

"Y-yes..." Kitty stammered.

"First-year, are you? Well, see that carriage? That's where you have to go. Your form mistress will be there. Old Andrews is a good sort, but you want to watch her when she gets waxy!"

"Thanks!" Kitty just managed to get the word out when the fair boy was swallowed out of sight by the crowd.

**A/N: Yay! finally I can start on the real story! And I'm sure everyone can guess who the boy she met was... Ah well, must get on with the next chapter. Poor Kitty, she didn't have a very happy birthday, did she? It's gonna get worse...**


	2. Chapter 1 Evacuation

**Chapter 1**

**Evacuation**

**Disclaimer: Idonotownralphjackrogersimonsamnericpiggyoranyothercharactersascreatedbywilliamgoldingialsodonothaveanythingtodowiththebooklordofthefliesexceptforwritinginanefanfictiononit!**

**(GASPS) GIVE ME OXYGEN! OXYGEN!**

**A/N: I was in school this morning and I was telling my non-lotf orientated friend about the storyline... I said, "They all became savages," and she thought I said "They all became SANDWICHES!" Lol... Then I had her guess how Simon died and she said stuff like "Eaten by a pig" and "Died of lung cancer". ANYWAY... this friend's nickname I gave her is Sam as she looks exactly like another girl in the class (they're not twins though). I call another of my friends Simon-cause she's so innocent!**

**On the topic of sandwiches, here is my list of sandwiches I THINK correspond to lotf characters...**

**Jack: Tomato sandwich**

**Ralph: Cheese sandwich**

**Piggy: Ham sandwich (for obvious reasons)**

**Samneric: Cucumber sandwich**

**Roger: Steak sandwich**

**Simon: Egg sandwich**

**Very random I know...**

* * *

Kitty took to school life like a duck to water. Quick to make friends, she sailed through her first term at Ripon. She was fast at lessons, and found the schoolwork simple. She also made her mark in the school lacrosse team, being agile and good at catching. She got on well with the rest of her form, especially with two girls named Sarah and Michelle, who became her special friends. 

However, it was an idyll that could not last. Far away, on the other side of the earth, forces had been set in motion that none, save few could control. The ugly threat of war stretched its tentacles from a country far to the North and enveloped the rest of the world, finally settling on the British Isles, and so into Kitty's life.

* * *

The morning the order came was a Monday, grey and cloudy as if the sky itself was aware of the deplorable circumstances the world had snared itself in. Kitty and Sarah stopped by the post-racks on the way to morning prayers-Kitty had a letter from Donny, whose absymal spelling always made her laugh. 

"Come on, Kitty!" Sarah urged, tugging her friend's sleeve. "We're going to be late if you don't hurry!"

Kitty, who had been opening Donny's letter, stuffed it into her pocket to read at leisure.

The hallways were thronged with people wearing identical school uniforms, as they made their way from the breakfast-hall towards the chapel. Kitty no longer had the sense of melting into a crowd-she had become used to the hustle and bustle of school life. She no longer wondered why she had been sent away, but she was soon to find out.

The chapel was a small building, and its only ornate feature was the magnificent stained-glass windows that dominated the honey-coloured wooden walls. Each window had been a labour of love as well as skill. Every panel of glass had been carefully and lovingly cut and painted to depict scenes from the different chapters of the Bible. A pulpit dominated the front of the room. It was carved with the likeness of a swooping eagle and it was from here that the pastor would give his sermon.

The chapel was Kitty's favourite place in the school. She loved it from the cool flagstones of the floor to the high, vaulted ceiling. She always felt relaxed there. The chapel had an aura of peace, as if the countless services that been held there had somehow seeped into the panelled walls.

There was no distinction between boys and girls, so they could sit where they liked, provided that they stayed with their form. Kitty found herself seated between Sarah and a boy from her form called Peter. The service proceeded as usual. Hymns were sung and prayers were said, and the pastor read out a few verses from the Bible.

The last few notes from the closing hymn died away. A rumble of chatter permeated the mass of students as they stood to return to their classes.

"Wait a minute, boys and girls!"

The school's headteacher, Mrs. Evans, had taken the pulpit. She was a middle-aged woman with a few streaks of grey in her brown hair. Her gentle but firm temperament had earned her the respect of all the students and teachers, and most lately Kitty herself.

"I am sorry to keep you from your classes, but I have an important announcement to make. It concerns an evacuation order."

The rumble escalated.

"The government has decided that, because of the increasing threat from Russia's nuclear policy, it would be wise to evacuate as much of Britain's youth as is possible. It is only a precautionary measure, so there is no cause to panic. All of you shall be evacuated to either New Zealand or Australia, two of Britain's colonies in the Pacific region. Nuclear fallout migrates only slowly around the Equator, so _if_-and only if there is cause for alarm, you will be safe."

One of the youngest children had started to sob. Next to her, Kitty heard Peter whisper, "_Holocaust!"_

They were in the front row, and Mrs Evans heard Peter's panicked whisper. "I repeat, there is no cause for alarm. You should all be back home soon."

There was no conviction in her voice, and with a jolt of pure, cold fear running down her spine, Kitty realised that Mrs Evans didn't really believe what she was saying.

* * *

The evacuation order was chalked on a large board that was placed in the corridor, where all the students would pass on the way to their various classes. Sarah and Kitty stopped by the board to check their flight, and realised that they would not be evacuated together. Kitty's group consisted of part of the first form, combined with a group from the second. Apparently, several schools were going to be evacuated together, so apart from the two forms from Ripon, Kitty would be evacuated with children from other schools, like Bishop Wordsworth's School for Boys. She was one of the few girls on the flight-the other schools were all boys' schools. The evacuees were only allowed one suitcase to take with them, and its contents had been carefully stipulated by the school. 

_So this was why Mother sent me away, _Kitty thought. _Because of the war._ Donny's smiling face, followed by her mother's lined, gentle one, flashed into her mind. It was then that she realised that, if the fear in Mrs Evans' eyes had a foundation, she might never see either of them again.

* * *

The first impression Kitty had of the airport was of blinding lights, huge machines and thunderous noise. It was a cold, early winter morning, so it wasn't likely to get light anytime soon, and the cloudy darkness added to Kitty's sense of uneasiness. The chartered coach pulled to a halt, and the students began to file out, clutching their single suitcases, with none of their usual chatter. The eerie atmosphere was heightened by the damp, winter fog that clung to the ground. 

The only human voices in all the silent airport were a group of men. They carried megaphones, which they were shouting into. Now and again, one of the megaphones would malfunction, causing a parrot-like cacophony to blare out over the airport. Its bearer, maybe with a grimace of irritation, would fiddle his contraption back to working order, more often than not elicting a burst of static.

"Group 1b, New Zealand Flight 2, over here please! Group 1c, New Zealand Flight 3, to my right!"

Kitty listened with not so much as a pretence of interest, her eyes fixed on the ground.

"Group 2a, Australia Flight 1, in this plane, please!"

Kitty slowly detached herself from the throng of students and dragged her feet over to the aeroplane indicated. On any other occasion, she would have been overwhelmed by the complex grandiosity of the massive flying machine, but today she was past caring. Other children were thronging around her, many different school uniforms blending into the colourless winter morning. Numbly, Kitty climbed the rickety metal steps leading up into the belly of the aircraft. Her suitcase seemed unusually heavy at the end of her arm and it bumped against her leg with a dull rhythm.

Suddenly, Kitty was stricken with a realisation. _I haven't read Donny's letter!_ She groped futilely in the pocket of her skirt for a letter she knew wasn't there, but was in the pocket of her other skirt where she had put it an eternity ago. Now she would never read it, never know what her brother had had to say to her when he had written. Donald would be waiting for a reply, unknowing that his letter had never been read, hadn't even been opened.

The inside of the plane was awash with the constant vibrations of the plane's engines. Kitty made her way to a seat situated by the window, fairly near to the cockpit. After hoisting her suitcase onto the overhead baggage rack, she sat down and stared morosely out of the window. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the passengers seemed to have stopped entering the plane and that one of the men with the megaphones had come in and was doing a quick headcount before takeoff.

She couldn't have cared less. Even though it was morning and the first pale streaks of dawn were beginning to show to the east, Kitty's eyelids felt as if they were weighed down with lead. Slowly, they closed. Kitty was asleep.

* * *

She was awoken by voices, speaking at close quarters. They sounded hushed, worried. Kitty blearily opened her eyes and realised that the voices were coming from the seat in front. Peering through the divide in the two seats, Kitty saw the man with the megaphone and the copilot, deep in conversation. Craning her neck forward, the girl tried to listen unobtrusively. 

"So it's happened, then?" Kitty recognised this voice - only she had last heard it blaring out over a silent airfield. "You absolutely sure?"

"Yes. The call just came through on our radio."

There was a pause, a rustle of clothing. Kitty risked looking over the back of the seat; the man with the megaphone had buried his head in his hands. His voice, when he spoke, was muffled.

"Oh, God."

The copilot patted him on the shoulder. "We all knew it would happen someday. Russia was going too far with her nuclear policy to hold back. Just be thankful you're one of the lucky ones."

"What about the children? Should they be told? I mean -"

"They have a right to know. Only we can't break the news now. We're still shocked, and we need time to settle down. In time. In time we'll tell them."

Kitty withdrew. She had heard enough. She didn't know, if she listened further, where the conversation would go, only she could guess. And she didn't want to know for sure.

* * *

Outside the window stormclouds were gathering. The setting sun spilled and stained them with red. Kitty noted dispassionately that she had slept for nearly a whole day. She felt drained; incapable of emotion. 

A violent jolt shook the plane, causing Kitty to crack her head against the window glass. The pain helped to shake off most of her despondency; it was still there, but pushed into a hard knot in the back of her heart for later. She strained against her tight seat belt, trying to get a glimpse of the cause of the bump. Around her, children were chattering. There were a few screams and belated bursts of hysterical laughter.

The next jolt was even more powerful, shaking the plane like a dog shakes a rat. The cries escalated. The man with the megaphone was on his feet, urging them to remain calm. He had forsaken his megaphone, so his voice echoed thinly into pandemonium. Kitty looked around the plane, panicked, and caught a glimpse of the wing of the plane through the window. A steady stream of flames was arcing into the surrounding air. The general panic rocketed as more and more children looked out of the window. The plane was wallowing steadily, losing height with every passing second. A sharp drop and the perspective changed. Kitty found that she was looking down onto grey, storm-lashed sea.

The man with the megaphone shouted something about jettisoning the passenger tube, but no one heard. No one was listening. The man swore and struggled along to the cockpit, closely followed by the copilot. Next second, Kitty was turning over and over in the air, the screams and yells of the other children echoing in her ears. Struggling, Kitty managed to rip her seatbelt off as the passenger tube crashed through a layer of green foliage, throwing her across the width of the tube to slam, side-on, into the opposite bank of seats.

A rent had opened up in the side of the tube. Stinging rainwater surged through the hole, getting into Kitty's eyes and blinding her. The passenger tube was still moving, crashing through the jungle. All around Kitty were shouts, screams and flailing limbs as people tried to keep their balance in the jolting passenger tube. It was moving swiftly, crashing down a steep incline, and Kitty reaslised, with a sick stab of fear, that they were being dragged out to sea by the storm. Visions of grey seawater rushing into the gap in the side of the tube and over her swamped her mind, followed by a choking sensation as if salt water was filling her nose and mouth, drowning her.

Kitty heard a strangled cry and realised it originated from her own throat. Forcing her clamped jaws open, she shouted, "Get out of the plane!"

Her voice sounded strange; it was lost in the pandemonium. Sobbing for breath, the girl struggled across the packed plane, doing unheeding violence to the children who were scrabbling on the floor and the seats. People were screaming and a few small boys were crying. As Kitty fought her way across the packed plane, she noticed a very little boy, curled up in one of the window seats, his knees drawn up to his chest, a staring, glassy look in his eyes. He was obviously too scared to move.

Grabbing his wrist, not caring how rough she was, Kitty dragged him bodily out of the seat, at the same time shouting in his ear in order to snap him out of his listlessness. The boy did not complain at the rough treatment, but hung limply from her grasp. Panting, straining at the dead weight, Kitty struggled across the aisle.

The plane jolted violently, sending most of the children flying. The boy's wrist was wrenched out of Kitty's grasp. She felt her nails tear his skin as he spun out of sight, sliding under a seat.

Despairing, knowing that she had run out of time, Kitty looked around desperately, trying to get her bearings. The bump had disorientated her, and she felt dizzy and sick.

A gust of cold wind and stinging rain to her right told her the relative position of the rent. The jolt had thrown her further than she had expected. Outside, the jungle was rushing by fast, leaves and branches whipping past the hole and striping anyone near. Kitty looked at the dizzying rush and felt nausea rise in her throat.

_This is no time for teetering on the edge. Jump. Jump. Jump or die._

Kitty jumped.

* * *

She had managed to wrap her arms round her head to shield it from the whipping branches, but even so Kitty could feel them beating her mercilessly as she fell through the air. The short fall seemed to take eternity. She could feel the driving rain lashing her body, forcing her down. 

The impact drove the breath out of her lungs, crashing her into thick, soft forest loam. Then she was rolling, unable to balance on the steep incline, soil and mulch flying up around her as she fought to keep it out of her eyes, scrabbling for something, anything to anchor herself and halt her breakneck flight. Then the inevitable crash came, and Kitty was driven up against something large and solid - a tree? An outcropping of rock? - with such force that the girl slumped to the earth, stunned, on the brink of unconsciousness. All around her were the mysterious night - sounds of the jungle, assailing her ears with such relentlessness that Kitty's pain - addled brain cried out in protestation. Everywhere was cloaked in velvety darkness that blindfolded her utterly and completely. Kitty's fingers probed the solid object that she was backed up against, the tiny movement sending fireworks of pain to her mind. Her fingertips scraped rough bark.

Kitty was lying at the base of a gargantuan tree, amidst its tangled roots. Slowly, painfully, the girl levered herself into a sitting position, pulling her knees up to her chest. Resting her aching head on her knees, Kitty allowed darkness to claim her. The sounds of the jungle faded and died.

She didn't know what had happened to the other children.

* * *

**YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Finally the chapter is finished!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Haha, Kitty is angry with me now, as I left her in suspended animation for WEEKS, due to exams. Which I am glad to say I passed, and passed well :) Sam told me to split the author's note and the end of the chapter, as she said the YAY spoilt the mood. I have tried to remedy this with line breaks.**

**N.B. Bishop Wordsworth's School for Boys in Salisbury, in England is the very school that Golding taught at when he wrote Lord of the Flies and the Salisbury Cathredal Choir is the choir in which Jack was chapter chorister. Presumably, he also was one of the older boys in the school as it is stated that he was "head boy".**

**N.B. 2: I just realised that during the journey they'd have had to stop for refuelling. But I didn't write any of that. I think that it detracts from the pace of the story and I also don't want Kitty to get the chance to meet the other boys. Sorry about the inaccuracy :)**


	3. Chapter 2 The Sound of the Shell

**Chapter 2**

**The Sound of the Shell**

**Disclaimer: Read my last one. I still need oxygen.**

**Ok, this chapter is dedicated to my friend Sam, mentioned in the foreword of the last chapter, and whom, I'm glad to say, is now a fellow LOTF obsessee. This is due to my INFLUENCE. Anyway, it's her birthday tomorrow (at the time I'm writing, 26th of October), so this is her sort-of birthday present. I shall write a dedication later. She requests that there be a lot of Roger, Simon and Samneric, the characters that SHE is officially obsessed with. (This is my fault again. Maybe I shouldn't have called her Sam.) Jack and Ralph are so much better. Phht. Have I got her a present (apart from this) yet? Don't ask.

* * *

**

**ANYWAY...

* * *

**

**T****his chapter, "The Sound of the Shell" is dedicated to Sam, one half of Samneric, in recognition of her birthday. Also in recognition of the fact that the school year is now over, and that I am grateful for Sam's obsession in a class of LOTF barbarians. Clear? Good. NOW ON WITH THE FIC!!!!!!!!!!!

* * *

**An uncomfortable lump in the small of her back was the first thing Kitty noticed as she gradually came awake. Shifting her position slightly, the girl identified it as a tree root arching up in a curve from the ground. Kitty groaned, a sleep-mumbled noise that was swallowed up by the jungle, and shifted position so she was clear of the root. Now that she was halfway alert the heat of the tropics hit her like a hammerblow. She finally took in her surroundings, which were illuminated by the bright, clear light of morning. All around her was green vegetation, the sameness of which was occasionally broken by the scuffling of small animals which somehow she never managed to catch a glimpse of. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, sending raindrops pattering to the ground. 

Kitty's thumping headache had subsided to a dull throbbing, and she felt well enough to take stock of her surroundings. She cautiously levered herself into a sitting position, noting the myriad of aches in her limbs. Uncomfortable, but nothing seemed to be broken. As Kitty grabbed hold of a root and used it as a crutch to stand, she hissed a sharp intake of breath when she brushed against the tree trunk. Stripping off her stifling blazer and pulling up her grey school shirt, the girl discovered a deep purpling of bruises down her side.

Kitty leant her hand against the rough bole of the tree. Now that she had woken fully, she smiled delightedly and stroked the tree trunk. The rough bark forced her to accept the reality of the island. Here was a paradise on Earth - lush, verdant greenery, bright, rainbow-coloured birds feeding on abundant fruit blown to the ground by the storm. A veritable utopia, with no one to claim it but herself and whoever had survived the crash.

Far away, the rumble of breakers crashing on a beach caught Kitty's attention. Folding her school blazer over her arm, the girl set off in the direction of the sound.

* * *

The jungle was no country road, even though a wide swathe had been created by the passenger tube; the ground was strewn with leaves and branches scattered there by the storm. Creepers swung crazily from the treelimbs, some as thick as Kitty's arm. They created a maze that was so hard to bypass that she was forced to bend double for some stages, slowing nearly to a crawl. 

Her attention was so concentrated on her movement that she did not hear a rustling in the bushes until she was too close for comfort. Heart pounding, Kitty ducked behind a bush. The jungle screened all view of whatever creature had made the noise. Something big. What kind of beast could there be on this island?

_Don't be silly, _Kitty told herself. _There is no beast. What you just heard was probably a branch falling. Nothing at all to worry about. _However, she still pressed herself into the shrub, with her back to the noise, as the rustling in the bushes advanced.

"Hullo!" This was the last thing Kitty had expected. Trying to turn around suddenly and stand up at the same time turned her movement into an ignominious scrabble for balance. She nearly fell over, and the speaker grabbed her arm.

No beast then, but only a boy. Cheeks burning, Kitty raised her eyes to his face, and suddenly recognition hit her.

"You! The boy from the train."

The coincidence set them both laughing delightedly. Now that Kitty was standing clear of the obstructing bushes, she realised that the fair boy was not alone. Hovering just behind him was another boy, about twelve years old and extremely fat. He was wearing the customary school uniform, including a blazer, which he had not yet removed - out of habit or decorum. Perched on the bridge of his nose were enormous round spectacles, the thick convex lenses of which were fogged from exertion. He was wheezing heavily.

"My auntie told me not to run - on account of my asthma."

The fair boy glanced at his companion, looking vaguely irritated at this interruption. The statement did not seem to require an answer so he turned back to Kitty.

"What's your name, then?"

Kitty told him.

"I'm Ralph."

Kitty looked him over. Instead of a busy train station there was now a backdrop of island greenery, but Ralph still was Ralph, station or island. She had only caught a shallow glimpse of him back in England; being more concerned with the imminent necessity of finding her train. Now that she could examine him more closely he proved to be pleasing - looking, with fair hair, tangled by the trek through the jungle, and brown eyes. A bleeding scratch swiped across one cheek, and as she looked Ralph's hand came up and scrubbed his face, streaking blood over a wider area.

The fat boy was bobbing on his heels.

"I don't care what they call me, as long as it's not what they did at school."

For the first time, Kitty was interested in him.

"What did they call you?"

The fat boy glanced furtively around, as if he expected the jungle to be listening in. Bending close, so that Ralph and Kitty had to stoop to listen, he whispered, "They used to call me Piggy."

"Piggy!" The two older children's laughter shattered the green calm of the forest. Faced by this ridicule, Piggy smiled uncertainly, glad that they were at last taking notice of him but chagrined at the mockery they were making of his nickname.

"As long as you don't tell anyone..."

The other two were already gone; making their way through the jungle towards the sound of the sea. Piggy sighed and followed, slowly and painfully.

* * *

As the distant roar of the waves grew louder, Kitty struggled through the jungle, batting away twigs that caught at her hair and face. Beside her, Ralph soldiered on, neither of them speaking. The thrill of the island and the camaraderie of new companionship was enough. Behind them, a wheezing in the bushes told them that Piggy was gamely following behind. 

Ralph and Kitty burst through the last screen of bushes and stopped dead. After the vegetation was a layer of loose soil carpeted with grass, then white, fine sand. As the beach progressed the sand became more golden, firmer and wetter, culminating in a foamy sweep of waves. The green of the sea turned to deep blue the further out it was, and the black scribble of underground coral or rocks was visible through the water. The island curved further down the bay, cupping the blue waters in a blanket of green forest and pink rock. Overhead, seabirds wheeled and cried, and the sky was an improbable blue.

The two children dashed down the beach, Piggy panting along behind them. Kitty ran forward, down to the sea, then darted back as a wave rolled in over her shoes. Laughing, she kicked up the foam left over from the last breaker, rejoicing in the white droplets against the sky. In a sudden movement, almost fiercely, she unlaced her black school shoes and stripped off her socks.

"Coming in?"

Ralph used his hand as a visor to shield against the sun.

"Might be sharks."

Kitty splashed water. For a few minutes, Ralph joined in, both children feeling the joyous reality of the island. As their school clothes were rapidly soaked, Kitty thought guiltily of adult retribution.

"Are there any grown-ups?"

Piggy had not dared to join the water battle. Now that there was no threat of getting splashed, he staggered cautiously across the shifting, wet sands to where the others were, just in time to hear Kitty's query.

"I don't think so. There weren't that many grown-ups on the plane, were there? There was - there was -"

"The man with the megaphone -"

"The pilot -"

Piggy folded his arms across his chubby chest. "Maybe they're all dead. The plane was shot down, wasn't it? Maybe there aren't any grown-ups anywhere."

This was a sobering thought. Ralph and Kitty looked at each other. Kitty pulled her shoes and socks back on, grimacing at the friction of wet sand against wool. Retrieving their blazers, which had been carelessly thrown down on the tideline, the children started off down the beach, parallel to the sea.

* * *

They had been walking for quite some time. The sun beat down overhead, parching all the moisture from their mouths. Kitty longed for a drink, but the only beverage available was locked in the coco-nuts on the trees dotted along the shoreline. 

Piggy was the first to complain.

"I'm thirsty."

There was more than a hint of irritation in Ralph's voice.

"So are we."

Faced with this indifference, Piggy was forced to expound on his chosen theme.

"It's different for you," he said." You're older, and stronger, and you don't have asthma."

Kitty sighed in exasperation; Piggy was a bore, his asthma and whinging a constant liability. The fact that she too was thirsty and irritable from the heat and her uncomfortable, sandy shoes made her lash out.

"Sucks to your ass-mar."

Piggy looked hurt, and about to start his oratory again, so Ralph made an effort to keep him quiet.

"Look. See that platform of rock over there? Along the beach, with all those trees growing on it? We'll walk until we get there. Then we can rest, and see if we can't find a drink."

Striding out ahead, he started off for the rock. Kitty made an initial run to keep up with him, then fell into step. Piggy hung bumbling behind.

* * *

Some freak of nature had ensured that a huge chunk of pink rock had been deposited in the centre of the beach. Years of sea breeze had blown fine sand and loam into the cracks and crevices of the rock, as well as spreading over the top, so that it was carpeted with the hardy, resilient vegetation that could survive the poor soil. Some of the coco-nut trees growing there had not been able to find enough sustenance in the thin layer of soil, so when they reached a certain height they fell and died, creating a criss-cross network of tree trunks. 

Even though the sides of the platform were taller than Kitty, the side they were closest to sloped towards them. The myriad of handholds and footholds dotting the rock made it easy for Kitty and Ralph to scramble up, then turn around to assist Piggy, dragging him up bodily by both arms. Piggy's inevitable complaints were silenced by his ass-mar.

On top of the platform was all green light and shadow, with golden patches of sunlight filtering in through the palm leaves. It was much cooler here than on the beach, where they were completely unprotected from the sun. Ralph and Kitty immediately began a mission to climb one of the smaller coco-nut trees, with Piggy sitting on a palm trunk that had fallen and wedged itself between two other trees, forming a natural seat.

Not long after, Kitty, as she was the smallest and lightest of the two, had shinned up one of the thinner, shorter trunks and dropped three green coco-nuts down to Ralph. As she came sliding down, covering the whole front of her grey shirt with dirt, Piggy perked up visibly and held out his hands for one of the coco-nuts.

However, they had not the means to break them open. After a few futile tries with a rock, Kitty threw her coco-nut into the bushes.

"It's no good."

Ralph had given up on his coco-nut earlier than she had, and had devoted his time to exploring the platform. Now he paused on the opposite edge and shouted.

"Hey - look!"

Kitty ran over to join him, and saw that which had been invisible from all except that edge of the platform. On the beach on the other side of the platform, the wind had banked sand into a deep, spacious beach-pool, with one side of it formed by the rock of the platform. The pool's surface was stirred by the breeze, and Kitty saw that, at one end, the water was deep enough to be dark green.

The two older children wasted no time in a hasty descent down to the beach. Piggy followed, his ungainliness in climbing outweighed by his desire for company. However, the pull pf the old society was too strong to let him swim. He muttered something about his auntie forbidding it and mooned on the edge of the pool, trailing his fingers in the water.

Meanwhile, Kitty hastily shed her shoes, socks and skirt, so that she was dressed in her underwear and shirt. Ralph was busily engaged in doing the same, although the protocol of their society allowed him to take off his school shirt. The two children ran forward to the pool, splashing an indignant Piggy in their haste to gain the water.

To Kitty, the water was a pleasant, cool shock after the stifling heat of the beach. She had always been a good swimmer, and she dived underwater at once, flipping onto her back and opening her eyes to see the shifting patterns of sunlight and the vague, uncertain shadows of trees. Soon, she and Ralph were engaged in splashing each other, the salt water stinging their eyes but so cool that they continued.

While they splashed and laughed, Piggy had retired from the edge of the pool, for fear of the water getting on his glasses. He wandered off down the beach, sometimes picking up an interesting shell or stone to examine it. Soon, he was walking along the tideline, close to the sea. His cry brought Kitty and Ralph, reluctantly, from their bathe, pulling on their clothes along the way.

"Hey, Ralph, Kitty, come here! Look what I found!"

He was annoyed by the slowness of their progress.

"Come on!"

Finally, the two older children reached him. Kitty looked out to where Piggy was pointing, to a spot in the sea not too far from the shore. She caught a glimpse of something creamy-white, half-hidden by the swirling waves.

Wading out to the thing in the water, Kitty hefted it out of the breakers, and saw that it was a shell, white with slightly pink lips, an eighteen-inch tube culminating in a creamy twist. It was heavy as she upended it, sending wet sand and seawater gushing out.

Behind her, Piggy was babbling.

"I know what that is. It's a conch! I seen one of them before! The boy who had it played it like a trumpet! He used to blow it and then his mum would come."

Kitty turned around, wading back to the others on the shore. Piggy was still chattering, but Ralph was silent, hit by an idea.

"Use it to call the others."

"What do you mean?"

Ralph stumbled over his words as he gesticulated, trying to express his notion.

"The others! There must've been some other children who survived, right? Well, blow the conch, let them hear it!"

Kitty took the conch in both hands. Slipping her hand into the long opening that ran down the shell, she blew with all her strength. Nothing happened.

Piggy had stopped talking, but started up again at Kitty's failure.

"You blow from down here -" indicating his sizable abdomen - "Try it! My auntie wouldn't let me blow it, on account of my athsma."

"Sucks to your auntie." Kitty had taken her lips away from the conch to quash Piggy, but put them back almost immediately, blowing with air from her diaphragm.

She had gotten the hang of it at last. The conch sounded in a rush of noise, a deep blare of sound, as Kitty blew. Echoes reverberated from the pink rocks ranged into cliffs along the beach, increasing the initial note of the conch tenfold. Brightly-coloured birds, scared by the alien noise, fluttered up from the jungle foliage like rainbow confetti. Taking a breath against the shell, the girl blew again with even more force. This time, the noise was even more strident and blaring, causing Piggy and Ralph to cover their ears.

As Kitty ran out of breath, the sound of the conch faded and died. Ralph took his hands away from his ringing ears.

"Golly!"

Words were not enough to express the majesty of the conch. Instead, Ralph stood on his head. Meanwhile, Piggy had been scanning the shore.

"Look - there!"

Ant-like figures were making their way along the beach, some coming from the jungle, some labouring across the sand. Kitty blew the conch again as they were coming into view, not so much calling the other children as rejoicing in the stupendous noise she was creating. As the black specks that were children largened and came into focus, Ralph pulled Kitty's arm.

"Come on - we'll go up to the platform. That's the place to hold a meeting."

* * *

Most of the children could, upon reaching the platform, climb up onto it unaided, but some of the littler boys needed help. Kitty put the conch aside and, together with Ralph, became busily engaged in giving the ones in difficulty a leg-up. Piggy sat to one side, upon his palm trunk, and gave comments, helpful or unhelpful. Neither of the older children paid any attention to him. 

One of the little boys Kitty helped up was a small, sturdy individual, about six years old. He had a mop of curly, mouse-brown hair and a broad, grinning face splashed with freckles. He smiled at Kitty as she boosted him up to the platform, an infectious outflash of joy that made the girl grin back.

"What's your name?"

"Percival Wemys Madison, the Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony, telephone, Harcourt 241."

Soon, all the children who had answered the call of the conch were comfortably seated on the palm trunks that criss-crossed the green darkness of the platform. Kitty stood, cradling the conch in two hands, with Ralph beside her, surveying the newcomers. She noticed that the children's ages were spread out over a wide range; a little boy who did not look older than four or five was sitting on a trunk, legs dangling, holding a model aeroplane. Close beside him was another boy who looked to be about Piggy's age. They were all dressed in school uniforms, though some had removed various articles of clothing. Kitty saw that there were no other girls, and some of the boys were eyeing her with naked surprise. Everyone was speaking at once, but they quietened down when Kitty gave another blast on the conch. They seemed to revere the shell, perhaps because it had brought them all together.

"Piggy. Take their names."

Piggy, prompted by Ralph's order, stood with an air of pompous self-importance and moved among the crowd.

"What's your name?"

"Robin."

"Yours?"

"Piers."

"Digby."

"Michael."

Piggy turned to a pair of boys sitting close together. They were twins, identical in every respect, with thick, tow-coloured hair and upturned noses, peaked school caps sitting at identical angles upon their heads. The other children eyed them with some trepidation - there was something unnatural about one person split into two.

"What's both of your names?"

"Sam -"

"- 'n Eric."

The fat boy pointed from one to another.

"You're Sam?"

"I'm Sam -"

"- I'm Eric."

Presently, though, he got confused, and the assembly roared with mirth at Piggy's ineffectual effort to tell the twins apart.

Kitty got tired of watching Piggy after a while, so she turned to face the beach, peering through the tangle of trees at what she could see on the stretch of bright sand. Frowning, she abandoned her position against a tree trunk and made her way to the edge of the platform, staring at the beach with greater intensity. Presently, attracted by her attention, Ralph and some of the other boys came along to join her,

What was that black creature trekking along the beach? It was so far away that it was not easy to tell the difference between shadow and clothing, but as the creature drew nearer, Kitty could see that it was composed of a crocodile of boys, each kitted out in a long, black cloak, marching in rigid step. They were marching in pairs, but at the head of the line a boy walked on his own. As the odd procession made their way towards the platform, Kitty could hear that they were singing, a song of which the words were completely unfamiliar to her, probably in a foreign language.

Now most, if not all, of the children on the platform were crowded on the edge, staring at the newcomers. As they marched into the shadow of the platform, Kitty could make out the greater details of their costume. Each boy was dressed in the black cloak, which was closed at the neck with an intricate fastening, leaving the cloak to fall open the rest of the way down the body. The cloak had the effect of dwarfing some of the smaller boys, making them resemble black ravens. At their necks were white frills, most of which were stained with sweat and dirt. On the left side of the chest was an ornate, silver cross, and each member of the group wore a square, black flat cap on his head.

The children on the edge of the platform drew back, intimidated by the strange boys as they began to scramble up the side of the rock, their cloaks a hindrance. The boy who had been leading the procession vaulted onto the top of the platform first, cloak fluttering. He turned to his troupe.

"Choir - halt!"

The choir completed the climb and drearily re-formed into two raggedly equal rows. Seen close to, Kitty realised that the boy was taller and older than both her and Ralph, bony under the swathe of cloak. He had a long face, twisted into a frown from the exertion of the trek and the climb. Sunburn was beginning to colour his face, and new freckles blotched his nose and cheekbones. Under the square cap his hair was red, and he carried himself with an easy air of uniformed authority that automatically commanded acquiescence.

Leaning casually against a coco-nut tree, the boy glanced around the assembly.

"Where's the man with the trumpet?"

Kitty felt the need to assert herself against this newcomer.

"There's no man with a trumpet. Only me."

The boy regarded her superciliously.

"Isn't there a man here?"

The double entendre was obvious. Kitty flushed crimson. Ralph, out of an urge to detract from her embarrassment, stepped forward and answered the question in the negative. The choir leader took this news stoically.

"Then we'll have to look after ourselves." The choir, sweltering in their full-length cloaks, started to break ranks, heading for the cool shade of the trees and the comfort of the palm seats. Their leader gestured impatiently. "Choir, stay where you are!"

Obviously, the choir was used to obeying this boy, but the heat and discomfort was proving too much for some, who started to complain wearily.

"Please, Merridew..."

"Can't we sit down?"

Merridew was all for leaving them standing, but one of the boys, overcome by the heat, tumbled over into a faint, his black choir cloak pooling on the ground. At this the other boys rushed forward to help. Kitty tucked the conch under her arm and assisted, grabbing a handful of the boy's cloak and joining in the attempt to carry him into the shade. The choir used the episode as an excuse to scatter.

Merridew, scowling, stood and watched the breakdown of his authority. Piggy turned to the choir, who occupied the whole of one of the tree trunks.

"And what are all of your names?"

The choir sounded off in order.

"Henry."

"Maurice."

"Robert."

"Rupert."

"Harold."

"Bill."

"Roger."

This last was from a boy of about Kitty's age, probably a bit older. Sitting hunched on his trunk, Roger was a sullen-looking and melancholy boy with his choir cap pulled down low over his forehead. Dark hair swept low over his eyes, half-hiding them so that he had to look up to see; it also gave him a threatening demeanor. Of all the choirboys, he was the only one who was not joining in the chatter and laughter of the others, sitting silent, like a black bird of prey.

The choirboy who had fainted was gradually coming around, cradling his head in his hands. Now that his face was not obscured, Kitty could see that it was small and impish with a thatch of fair hair. The choirboy had blue eyes, which were strangely piercing and perceptive, and one side of his face was covered in sand from his faint. The black choir cloak made his features seem even paler, although a faint flush of sunburn was appearing on his cheeks.

"I'm Simon."

Merridew was determined to win back some notice.

"My name's Jack," he said, hands on hips.

Piggy started to speak. Jack Merridew cut him off mid-sentence.

"Shut up! What's your name anyway - Fatty?"

"Piggy!" hooted Ralph and the assembly broke up in merriment. Piggy, wounded, turned away from the laughing crowd and leant against a coco-nut trunk, polishing his spectacles while looking out to sea. Jack, satisfied at being instrumental in the joke, made a concession for his choir.

"All right, choir - take off your togs."

Gratefully, the choir stopped short in their mockery and unfastened the ties that held their cloaks together, swirling the garments over their heads. Underneath, they were revealed to be wearing relatively normal school uniform - white shirts, blue and yellow striped ties and grey shorts. Chattering, they helped each other to pile the cloaks to one side.

Jack had also discarded his uniform; now he turned to Ralph and Kitty.

"We need to decide who's in charge."

Someone shouted out something about having a chief.

"I ought to be chief," said Jack, decidedly. "I'm chapter chorister and head boy. I can sing C sharp."

Several of the other boys cheered, overweened by this open display of prowess. Kitty hefted the conch thoughtfully.

"We'll vote for a chief."

The conch, and the fact that she was the one who held it, gave her a certain amount of authority. No one questioned her decision, though Jack and a few of the choirboys looked put out. Jack in particular seemed to be taking the unanticipated presence of a girl on the island as a personal insult.

Several of the little boys needed the term 'vote' explained to them, but after this relative triviality was accomplished, Kitty gave a short blast on the conch for silence.

"All right then! We'll have a show of hands. Who wants Jack for chief?"

She counted.

"And who wants - Ralph?" Kitty had named Ralph as Jack's competitor as he was the most obvious choice; Ralph looked around, startled, at this. The hands went into the air. Kitty counted and saw that the votes were split into exactly half.

Piggy had recovered from his upset sufficiently enough to vote for Ralph; now he bobbed on his heels and put his hand up as if the green platform was a schoolroom.

"You haven't voted yet, Kitty."

The girl nodded, acknowledging her unintentional blunder. She cradled the conch. Hers was the casting vote in the election. Jack was looking mutinous, as if daring her not to vote for him.

"All right, everyone," Kitty said, to attract the attention of those whose awareness had wandered. She waved the conch, collecting her scattered thoughts. "You've voted. We all have, except me. And who I vote is chief."

The tension was almost palpable in the silence as Kitty looked around the gathered boys.

"Well then. Ralph's chief."

It was Jack's turn to blush as the scattered ranks applauded. The choirboys, upset at the failure of their chapter chorister, whispered behind their hands. Kitty handed the conch, ceremonially, to Ralph, who took hold of the shell almost reverently.

"All right. We've voted. So I'm chief."

A murmur of agreement. Ralph, secure in his new authority, turned to Jack and made a concession.

"But Jack's in charge of his choir. Jack, what do you want them to be? They could by an army, foragers..."

Jack's decision was clear to him. "Hunters."

"All right. The choir're the hunters. They'll get us food. Which brings me to the next thing. You know the plane got shot down. Well, we - Kitty and I - don't think there are any grown-ups. So we shall have to look after ourselves."

Several of the smaller boys looked uncertain.

"And another thing. We don't know for certain if this is an island. If it isn't, they might find us straight away. We might get rescued today, or tomorrow. So we have to find out if it is or not. Some of us will go and explore this place to find out. Who wants to go?"

Hands shot into the air. Everyone wanted to go.

"No, that's too many. I'll choose who goes. I'll go, and Jack, and..."

Ralph scanned the crowd.

"Kitty."

Jack jumped up.

"What! Why does she have to come? This is a man's job."

Kitty faced him, fists clenched. "I can do anything you can, Jack Merridew! Anyway, it was me that blew the conch. You'd probably still be walking around the island if it wasn't for me!"

Jack seemed about to retort; his face was flushed and he leaned forward menacingly. In the interests of peace, Ralph stepped between the two. He held the conch out, the symbol of his chieftanship.

"I'm chief," he said. "And I say she comes."

Jack backed down, falling silent.

Ralph scanned the crowd. "One more." He turned to the choirboy who had only lately revived from his faint. "You come. All right now, are you?"

Tucking the conch under his arm, Ralph began the descent from the platform. Jack, Kitty and Simon followed, the eyes of the crowd upon them. Very soon, they were nothing more than four rapidly-disappearing figures walking along the sandy flat.

* * *

The sun was past its zenith; and the relative coolness of the afternoon was a welcome relief after the sweltering morning. The four children made their way along the beach, their shoes making four pairs of footprints, stretching out in a line across the beach. Ralph had tucked the conch under his arm, and now and again he would reach around and pat the creamy shell. Simon watched him with a kind of suppressed happiness that nevertheless bubbled over into a grin that dominated his elfish face. Jack strode along, looking straight ahead. The beach was already starting to make him forget his earlier humiliation. Beside them, Kitty, eyes wide, took in the wonder of their surroundings. Even though she had been across the beach before the glamour of their coral island never failed to make her wonder. 

When they were about halfway across the beach, Ralph turned to the others.

"We'll make for the top of that mountain. We'll be able to see if it is an island from there."

The mountain dominated the scenery; a great hump of rock carpeted with jungle vegetation. Here and there were bald patches where no plants grew, and the exposed bare rock was pink like the cliffs. To the children it looked gigantic, but in reality was not very tall. The top of the mountain was flat, and it was from there that they would be able to survey their kingdom.

Soon, they were off the golden beach into the green calm of the jungle. Here, where the trees were not disrupted by the scar, they were even harder to bypass; the children had no breath to talk. Jack surprised them all by producing a large sheath-knife from a scabbard hung from his belt and using it to hack a way through. After this it was a bit easier, but Jack's knife was no machete, and soon Kitty was scratched and her shirt torn from the numerous thorn trees that dotted the jungle. The ground was going up in a steep incline, and they were forced in some difficult patches to bend double and grab for handholds. However, no one complained. The thrill of exploring hitherto uncharted territories far outweighed the obstacles encountered.

As they neared the top of the mountain the vegetation became sparser, giving way to pink rock. The wall of rock was nearly sheer, but pitted with cracks and crannies in which small, brilliantly blue flowers grew, sustained by the thin, loose soil that has drifted there by the wind. Simon picked one of the bright blossoms and presented it to Kitty, and they all laughed, even Jack. During the trek up the mountain a kind of truce had developed between Kitty and Jack, so that they now regarded each other with no antagonism, but mutual admiration and respect.

They had been preparing themselves for the final climb up the mountain; and now they launched themselves at the rock, scrambling up the final obstacle to finally stand at the top of the mountain. Up there breezes could more freely circumvent, so it was much cooler than the humid, oppressive jungle. The flat top of the hill was covered in scrubby grass and a few wildflowers, around which butterflies flew and sipped.

Kitty stood on tiptoe, all the better to see the view from the mountain. She ran across the flat summit, Simon close behind, and peered over the opposite edge. Below them, the great Pacific Ocean stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Kitty bent down to examine her shin where she had barked it against the rock. "So it is an island."

Ralph's eyes glittered. Standing on the edge of the summit, he stretched his arms out, still holding the conch.

"This belongs to us." Then, as his first proclamation had carried a note of uncertainty, "This belongs to us!"

He lifted the conch, but was unschooled in playing it, producing a sound halfway between a whistle and a shriek. Jack and Simon fell about with laughter, but Kitty snatched the gleaming shell and blew, a long strident blast that seemed to shake the island. The microscopic figures near the platform looked up and waved. Jack and Simon fell silent. Ralph turned to them.

"All this is ours. There aren't any grown-ups. We can have fun until they come and rescue us!"

Kitty gave another blast on the conch out of sheer delight; Jack pretended to knock Ralph down and soon they were wrestling on the rock, sending earth flying. Simon did nothing, just stood, nodding and nodding his head and grinning from ear to ear.

The shadows were becoming long; the sun was just beginning its nightly descent. Ralph heaved Jack off him and dusted himself off. "Come on. We ought to get back to the others."

Together, they started to make their way down the mountain.

* * *

**End of Chapter 2!!!!!!!! WOW this chapter took me quite a few days to write... one of my longest. If I'm not mistaken it's about 6000 words... ah well. But Mr. Golding wrote them longer.**

**-Kitty (Aerona)**

**Just so you know, I might be a bit delayed in posting the further chapters of this fic, because Christmas is coming and I HAVE TO HANDMAKE 12 CHRISTMAS PRESENTS FOR MY FAMILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm actually using a cheapskate way to have fun while working, because I'm catering to my second obsession, Kingdom Hearts. Organization XIII bookmarks, heh heh.**

**BUT WHY IS SAIX SO HARD TO DRAW?!?!?!?!???!??!?!?!??!?!**


	4. Chapter 3 The Fruit Gatherers

**Chapter 3**

**The Fruit-Gatherers**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Flies, William Golding does. (goes on knees and begs) Let me have it, Mr. Golding! Pwease? **

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* * *

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**Aerona is sitting at her computer, typing this chapter. Jack pops up behind her.**

**Aerona: HEY!!!!!!!! (covers screen) JACK!!!!!!!! Do you or do you not understand the concept "privacy"?**

**Jack: Nope.**

**Aerona: Humph. Well, I suppose you can look. And that's just because you've got your spear out. I'm writing the new chapter.**

**Jack: Oh no, not your inane fanfic again... It sucks. Seriously. There's not enough ME in it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Aerona: Oh whatever.**

**(Simon pops up)**

**Simon: There's enough of me though! (hugs)**

**Jack: Oh shut up. I can't wait for the bit where you d-(Aerona covers his mouth) MMMMPH!!!!**

**Simon: What?**

**Aerona: Oh, nothing. Come on, we'd better start the fic.

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The way down the mountain was less challenging than the ascent; the anticline made travel easier and it was not necessary to crawl on hands and knees. The jungle had darkened with the sun and seemed to be made up out of a patchwork of shadows. Ralph, Jack, Kitty and Simon each made their separate ways down, each of them reliving the excitement of the ascent and the glory of the summit. Kitty was still clutching the brilliant blue flower Simon had plucked for her on the mountain; now she let it fall, eyes following the patch of colour until it came to rest on the forest floor. Then she looked around at her companions, an infectious smile on her face.

Simon grinned back. Dying sunlight shone through his fair hair, haloing his face in white. Beside him, Ralph, feeling he must use tangible means to express his joy, stood on his head, legs waving. Jack tried to look as if the celebration was of no concern to him, but failed. Everyone could see the light in his eyes.

They were about halfway down the mountain by this time; suddenly they wandered into a stand of fruit trees, smooth-skinned, oval fruit hanging from the tree branches like yellow rain. Ralph and Kitty immediately rushed at the trees; making use of the ample handholds available to pull themselves up towards the strange fruit.

The fruit was good; the golden flesh sweet and cool after Jack had used his knife to slice away the thick outer skin. Now their hands were taken up by the fruit the children's progress slowed as the sticky juice rushed over their hands. Kitty's hair was coming down out of her neat plait and was a constant irritation to her, getting into her eyes and causing her to toss her head impatiently. She could feel her skin smart from sunburn. For a brief moment, the new situation was nothing but an annoyance, but sunburn, sticky, dirty hands and loose hair paled in comparison with the glamour of the island.

They had reached a small overhang; ferns and other unnamed plants grew over a small ledge about two feet high, which, though not difficult, would need some negotiation when their hands were occupied with fruit. As Jack was about to swing himself over the ledge, a sound from under the overhang caught his attention. Rooting about in the thick carpet of plants was a pig, scarcely bigger than a piglet. It seemed not to regard them as a danger; or maybe it hadn't noticed them as it snuffled and dug with its snout.

Hardly daring to breathe, Kitty knelt on the edge of the overhang, fingers brushing the piglet's bristly back. The rub of her fingertips on hide sent a thrill through her. Here was more tangible proof of the wonder of the island. She had seen pigs before, back in England, but compared to this black piglet they seemed unsubstantial, mere cardboard cut-outs against its living vitality.

Her fruit lay forgotten in her palm; kneeling next to her, Jack tossed the large stone of his fruit away. Ralph was about to make some remark; but that was forgotten as Jack drew his knife, flourishing it above his shoulder.

Kitty had to swallow hard before she could speak.

"Are you - are you going to -"

Jack essayed to look confident, but his face twitched involuntarily.

"We need meat, don't we?"

Simon pressed closer to Kitty, as if for comfort, as Jack brought the knife down, pausing to hold it inches above the piglet's neck. With that one hesitation all the momentum of the strike; all the conviction and confidence that he had been building up had been lost and the knife stopped short. Kitty watched Jack's face. It was drawn and tight. He jerked his arm, a convulsive motion that made the knife shear off. Jack's arm fell to his side as the piglet trotted off. Laughing ashamedly, he sheathed his knife with a thrust.

The other three were regarding him silently. Simon's eyes were wide, Ralph looked taken aback and Kitty was breathing hard. Jack vaulted down the overhang but he misjudged his landing and fell with a crash into the leaf-mould. Cursing under his breath, he scrambled upright, violently brushing away the clinging earth. His face dared the others to make comment.

No one did, but as the others too climbed down the ledge, Ralph bravely dared a remark.

"That was bad luck."

Kitty also felt the need to rejoin.

"Why didn't you -"

She did not finish her sentence; the answer was all too obvious.

Simon had walked a little way, and he was leaning against a tree, face pale. The whole episode, and what Jack had come so close to doing seemed to make him physically sick. Jack noticed his silence, and felt the need to assert his authority. Crossing over to where Simon was, Jack whipped his knife out of the sheath and slammed it into the tree that the younger boy was leaning against, tearing free a chunk of bark.

Simon jumped out of the way as if he had been stung; Kitty and Ralph stopped short, amazed. Jack ripped his blade out of the tree and faced them all.

"That won't happen again."

No one contradicted him.

* * *

The other children were taking advantage of the cool evening to swim without fear of the sunburn that was already beginning to smart them, the bathing pool was filled with splashing and laughter. Several of the boys had scattered far along the beach, but they came running back after Kitty blew on the conch. Soon the green-and-gold shadows of the platform were interrupted by restless forms. 

Ralph had taken the conch after Kitty had blown it; now he squatted on a palm trunk that was bleached and age-whitened, commanding attention in the way he held the shining shell. He surveyed the circle of expectant faces that were ranged along the fallen trunks.

"Well, we've been to the top of the mountain. And we saw what we went to see. This is an island, then."

A murmur circulated around the assembled children. Ralph hastily went on.

"But it's a good island. We found good fruit, and there are pigs too..." He found himself looking at Jack, who was hunched up next to Roger. Jack's face was unreadable.

"So we won't go hungry. But we need rules. We need rules so we can live properly. First of all, when the conch is blown everyone comes here for a meeting."

Jack got up from the trunk he was sitting on.

"I agree with Ralph. Got to have rules and obey them. After all, we're not savages. We're English! And the English are best at everything."

He sat again to applause and cheers. The younger boys, excited, jumped up from their seats. A babble of voices filled the air. The meeting looked to be in danger of breaking up. Ralph frowned.

"Next time take the conch, Jack. But you're right. We'll have lots of rules. Now everyone sit down - sit down, you littluns! - and we'll get on with the meeting."

Overcome by Ralph's authority, the boys who had left their seats sat back down.

"All right. The rule about the conch is the first rule. And another thing. We must build shelters on the beach. Then we'll be safe if it rains again. Over the next few days we'll all help with them."

A few murmurs of agreement.

"And I'll finish off soon, but before I do I want to say this - about being rescued."

The silence seemed to grow sharper. Kitty leaned forward expectantly, watching Ralph intensely.

"We shall be rescued. It's just a question of waiting, that's all. Sooner or later someone will find us. But until then we must be sensible. We must stick together and work as a group. If we do all that, if we don't lose our heads, we shall be all right."

Ralph laid the conch down on the ground beside him - a sign that his speech was over.

"Anyone got anything else to say?"

Rupert, one of the older choirboys, took the conch to report that a stream had been found, leading back to a small pool with a waterfall. With this discovery of fresh water the future looked assured, safe. Ralph looked relieved at this report; he had been secretly wondering what they would do about drinking water. He took the conch back from Rupert.

"Well then. It's just like I said, about this being a good island. We've got everything we want. So why not have fun until we're rescued?"

There was a clamour immediately.

"Just like in the books -"

"Swallows and Amazons -"

"The Coral Island -"

Kitty was immediately drawn back into memories of the other life in England, a century ago, it seemed now. The Coral Island had been her favourite book. She could still remember the weight of the book in her hands as she ran her fingers across the pitted, red leather cover, and the musty smell of the yellow, worn pages. The book had had colour plates at intervals and Kitty could still remember flicking the pages and watching the soft slide of the plates as they slipped into place, the slick, laminated paper swishing in marked contrast to the other parchment-like pages. She had gasped, sighed and cried with the heroes as they made their life on their coral island.

Now the story was more than a story. It was reality.

The speeches were still progressing, and Jack had the conch in the process of describing their island. Everyone was listening, enraptured, as Jack painted a vivid picture of the paradise at their command.

A small hand tugged at her sleeve, making Kitty jump and turn to see the little boy she had noticed earlier. He was still nursing his model plane, the only visible reminder of his old life, its paintwork a trifle scratched and battered by now. Seen close to, he was a small, timid-looking individual, with a head of sandy curls and large, moist eyes. One side of his face was obscured by a large, mottled, mulberry-coloured birthmark. Not quite daring to invite publicity by taking the conch, the little boy had chosen Kitty as a channel through which to speak, possibly because she was the nearest link to the motherly or sisterly support that went with normal life. Kitty leaned towards him.

"What's your name?"

"Donald"

Hissing in a sharp breath, Kitty did a double take. The boy in front of her seemed to meld and fade into another Donald, a symbol of the past life, reduced to dust by the atom bomb. This Donald could not have been more different from her brother, his sandy hair and frightened expression in marked contrast to the other Donald's crop of crisp, dark curls and mischievous eyes. However, he still woke in Kitty the urge to protect.

"What is it?"

Donald's face worked; tears were in the offing. Kitty hastily put an arm around his shoulders and spoke to dry the flow.

"Well?"

The little boy cupped his hand confidentially to her ear and whispered.

"What about the snake-thing?"

"Snake-thing?"

The note of disbelief in her voice made Donald whisper vehemently.

"Yes, the beastie, the snake-thing. What about it?"

A shiver of fear ran through Kitty. The world suddenly seemed unreal, as if she and Donald were enclosed in a protective shell; outside the cocoon Simon had taken the conch, his voice echoing soundlessly.

"Beastie?" Kitty's voice was made loud by disbelief. The bubble was well and truly burst. Heads turned to look at them and Ralph shifted round from his position on the Chief's log.

"What was that?"

There was nothing for it. Kitty held her hands out for the conch.

"He says there's a beastie. On the island." The girl laughed, trying to inject some incredulity into her speech. "It's nothing of course. But -"

Around the circle mutters circulated like wind. Boys shifted uneasily in their seats, glancing into the deep green shadows. Fear of the unknown had been introduced and now every tree, every patch of shadow seemed to hold a hidden menace. Jack laughed derisively, a false hollow note that echoed around the silence of the ring.

"What's a beastie but an animal? And if it is one, then we - me and my hunters - we'll hunt and kill it!"

One of the littluns started to bawl. The choir gave a few ragged cheers - almost hysterical noises that did nothing to allay the fear. Kitty was indignant at Jack for provoking this reaction.

"But there isn't a beastie! And that's a fine way to talk, when we all saw what happened with the pig!"

A murmur of interest cut through the thick silence; Jack's face was thunderous. Ralph, in his capacity as chief, stepped forward and took the conch, running his hands up the delicate, embossed spiral as if to assure himself it was still there.

"Now look, we've got to stop this nonsense. There isn't a beastie and that's that. D'you hear me, you littluns? There isn't an animal."

Piggy heaved himself upright, holding out pudgy hands for the conch.

"I 'gree with Ralph. 'Course there isn't a beastie. How could one survive on a little island like this?"

Faced with Ralph's authority and Piggy's school-marmish commonsense, the fear died out of most boys' eyes. However, uncertainty still held sway over some.

Donald tugged again at Kitty's sleeve. The girl turned briefly to him, then faces the others. "There's more."

Faces turned her way. Some were uncertain, some were dubious, but now and again there could be beheld a flash of real terror.

"He says the beast only comes at night. He says it chased him through the jungle in the storm. And when the rain stopped, it vanished."

Fear, unsuspected and paralytic, stole up on the circle. There were mutters and hasty glances into the shadows. The littluns pressed closer to each other, trying to derive as much comfort as possible from the network of tightly-packed bodies. It was as if all the ghost stories there were, all the forbidden tales told in a corner of the common-room to a ring of barely-suppressed, unconcealed fear had taken on startling, disquieting tangibility. As the stories were translated from the pages of a book to the undoubted reality of the island, the crowd began to show the same terrified abandon that came with them. There were a few nervous, panic-stricken giggles. Ralph, watching reason slip away, jumped into the middle of the circle.

"There isn't a beast! There isn't!"

He went on, feeling the instinctive, unreasoning fear gnaw at the edge of his consciousness.

"I said it before and I'll say it again, if we don't lose our head we shall be all right. And now look! Scared of a beast! I tell you there isn't any such thing. He was having a nightmare, he wasn't being chased, it isn't real! None of it is!"

Cowed by the force of their chief's outburst, the circle fell silent. The weight of Ralph's authority did not entirely quell the terror, but he subdued them sufficiently to give him the unquestioning obedience of opinion they had given to the adults at the airport.

Jack stepped into the ring, taking the conch from Kitty en route. Facing the circle of children he flung his arms out expansively.

"You needn't be afraid of the beast if me and my hunters are here." He gestured along the tree trunk on which the choir was sitting. "Look. We're the hunters. We'll protect you from the beast. As soon as we've got settled we'll sharpen spears. Then, if the beast appears, we'll kill it!"

The fear was back; several of the boys sprang up, taking refuge from their dread in noisy exhortation.

"Yes!"

"Kill the beast!"

Ralph, uneasy with the turn the meeting was taking, snatched the conch, shouting.

"Stop! Stop it, all of you!"

The voices faded. Ralph stood in the centre of a circle of silence, looking at each of the faces around him in turn.

"That's enough talk about beasts. There're more important things to think about. Like food. There's lots of fruit on this island. Bananas, and coco-nuts, and those yellow fruit, and there may be more. So I say an expedition should go and find out what. They can explore and see what sort of fruit we've got to eat, and bring some back."

Kitty glanced at Donald. The little boy was turning his plane over aimlessly, staring at the ground. The mulberry-coloured birthmark on his cheek stood out starkly in the golden light. He had not received any assurance on his fears.

The girl started forward. "I'll go. I know where the fruit-trees we saw are. Anyone who wants can join me." Crossing the circle, Kitty squatted down beside Donald, gently prising his desperately clutching fingers away from his model aeroplane. The boy's face was twisting; he was about to cry. Kitty set the plane carefully down on the ground and turned to Donald, brushing a hank of sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"You coming? Do you good, you know. Take your mind off beasts."

She meant this last as a light jest, but Donald's lip trembled and Kitty braced herself for tears. However, he seemed to think better of it and nodded tremulously, sending patches of green and gold sliding across his sandy hair.

Ralph nodded in approval. "Good. And another thing. We need to make sure a ship or a plane notices us when it passes the island. That way, we'll be rescued quicker, So we must make a smoke-signal. We must make fire - on the mountain."

This proposition excited the rest so the beast was forgotten; now there were shouting about a fire. Jack leapt to his feet again, rallying the choir around him like a guard of honour.

"Come on! Let's go!"

Chattering, excited, the mass of boys swept off towards the mountain, leaving Kitty with those littluns who preferred food to fire. There were four of them altogether: Donald, Rowland, Frederick and Percival. Four pairs of bright, expectant eyes blinked up at Kitty. She laughed, and half-turned to see Simon leaning against a coco-nut tree.

"What're you doing here?"

Simon shrugged noncommittally. "Coming to get fruit."

"Would've thought youd've gone with the others. You know, for the fire."

Simon shrugged again, this time cautiously navigating towards the edge of the tree-strewn platform. He seemed not to be in a very talkative mood.

"Dunno. Didn't fancy it somehow."

Kitty looked at him askance; then sighed and started to assist the littluns in their descent. Once they were on the beach she struck out in the direction she thought the golden fruit were.

* * *

The sunlight slanted away fro, the perpendicular as the sun sank closer to the horizon, sending a golden flood of light pouring over the forest floor. The dappled shadows lengthened with the light, and gave the jungle an aura of unreality. The bushes of night-blooming, green flowers had opened their buds to receive the evening, sending out a heady scent that inundated the tangled vegetation and made their heads reel. Over the bushes a few multi-coloured butterflies still danced sluggishly, their last performance of the evening. The littluns, enchanted, ran, chased and shouted, all thought of the beast forgotten. Simon stepped over to the nearest green flower. 

"They're like candles. Green candles."

Delicately, he prised apart the paper-thin, waxy petals.

Kitty was drunk on the scent.

"They're beautiful."

With a sudden sense of purpose she set off through the jungle.

"Come on - it's this way."

The littluns bounding beside them, they pushed their way through tangles of creeper and vine, heading up the mountainside to the halfway-mark where the fruit-trees were. Simon and Kitty had both brought carriers for fruit - Simon his choir cloak, Kitty her school blazer - and they had to stop and adjust the, frequently as they were caught and held by thorn and branch. The happy cries of the littluns echoed back from the tree trunks, and Kitty was glad to see that Donald had cheered up, his fear forgotten.

After a while they came upon the yellow fruit trees and the littluns' happiness intensified. The fruit caught the evening light, making the trees seem as though they were crowned with droplets of gold. Bees and other insects crowded around the hanging fruit, giving out a low, steady hum that reverberated through the orchard. The ground was dotted with fruit like rain; and the littluns immediately dashed forward to scoop up this windfall. Meanwhile, Kitty and Simon concentrated on ascending the trees for the second time. The girl shinned up one of the trees, hands and feet easily finding purchase among the spreading branches. Wedging her feet in a fork, she reached out with both hands, pulling double handfuls of fruit down and dropping them into Simon's cloak, which he was holding spread out below her.

Once the black material of the choir cloak was half-obscured, Simon began to bundle it up.

"Enough."

Kitty descended to a lower branch and jumped the rest of the way down, feet crunching the dried leaves.

"Let's explore; find other fruit."

Gathering the littluns, they set off through the jungle once more.

* * *

As they journeyed deeper into the forest the light dimmed. The vegetation here was thicker; the creepers forming a criss-cross network that let little light penetrate. Simon and Kitty were forced to proceed almost bent double; helping the little boys along as they went. There was less talk now; and no laughter. Sweat was pouring into Kitty's eyes, her shirt was sticking to her and protruding thorns had scratched her arms and legs raw. 

Unexpectedly, after they had struggled through the tangled jungle for a while, they burst out into a small clearing. Here, even though it was largely free of vegetation, the trees still converged overhead, casting dusky shadows on the glade. Kitty, exhausted, crossed to the centre of the clearing and flopped down on the ground, the littluns following suit.

"We'll stop here for a bit."

Simon shifted uneasily.

"I don't think we should."

"Oh come on, Simon. We're all tired. Let the littluns rest for a bit."

Simon fell silent, but his face mirrored his thoughts.

Frederick, a little boy with a pointed face, dark hair and olive skin, had recovered sufficiently to explore this new territory. Bent over from the waist, rather in the attitude of an army commando, he prowled around the perimeter of the glade, now and again making mock rushes at an invisible enemy with a stick he had picked up. Kitty watched idly for a moment, and then left him to his own devices.

Suddenly, Simon bounded up from where he had been sitting beside her and flew across the clearing to where Frederick was, violently snatching something from the littlun.

"No! Don't eat that, d'you hear me!"

This was so unlike Simon that Kitty started up; Frederick screwed up his face and opened his mouth in preparation to bawl. Kitty ran over to him.

"What d'you think you're about, Simon? What's the matter?"

Simon held his hand out, palm up. Nestling in the centre of his palm was a fruit, a scarlet globe touched with gold from the descending sun.

"That's what."

Kitty stared.

"That's all? Why'd you stop him?"

Simon flung the fruit to the ground; it rolled down the incline of the hill and was lost in the flitting shadows.

"It's poisonous, that's what."

Frederick was wailing in the background; Kitty absently patted his head as she processed this new information.

"How on earth d'you know that?"

Now that his initial outflash of action was over, a faint flush of red tinged Simon's cheeks as he stammered.

"I - I just know, that's all."

Kitty looked at him oddly; by now she would usually have flown into a temper, but something about the shy, serious boy in front of her made her think deeper. She noticed that, although there were a few bees dipping around the wildflowers that infrequently dotted the grass, the fruit was untouched by them. Birds fluttered in the high branches but none of them came near the fruit. Kitty regarded Simon with new respect.

"You could be right."

"I know I am," said Simon, simply.

They grinned at each other, liberated by a moment of almost perfect understanding. Behind them, Frederick, burnt out by lack of attention, gave one last hiccupping sob and fell silent. Kitty rushed perspiration off her forehead.

"Awfully hot, isn't it?" she said. Simon assented. The dense, still air of the glade suddenly seemed to grow more oppressive. As the temperature increased, Kitty was aware of a curious snapping, crackling sound, like crepe paper or cellophane blowing in a high wind.

"What's that noise?"

The crackle was nearing; and as Kitty sniffed the air she caught a sharp, acrid tang which pierced her lungs and made her cough and choke. Simon's eyes were wide as he pointed to the opposite side of the clearing.

"Look."

A fierce orange light was glowing through the tangled mass of creepers; the noise increased and became a drumroll booming through the forest. Kitty's heart thumped against her ribcage as she saw that it was a solid wall of flame. The inferno reached the tree with the red fruit and devoured it hungrily; flames racing up the trunk. A small, almost tentative flag of flame licked out from the crown of the tree. As it faded and died it barely brushed the leaves of another tree, which glowed red. The flame spread like lightning - in seconds it had completely engulfed the tree in a raging conflagration.

"Run!" The word burst from Kitty's throat as she grabbed the littluns, hustling them in front of her as she stumbled towards the only way out of the clearing, a rapidly diminishing passage that was fast being swallowed up by the flames. The heat hit her, making her gasp. She could smell singeing cloth. Behind her, Simon gave a little cry as he stumbled, almost falling. Kitty grabbed him around the arm and hauled him upright, propelling him forward. The littluns were scampering in front as fast as their childish legs could allow - not fast enough. Kitty could feel the heat of the flames on her neck; the forest was engulfed in a drumroll around them. They had very little time until they were caught.

"Down to the beach," Kitty gasped. "We'll be safe there."

They were running full-tilt down the steep incline; suddenly Kitty felt her feet leave the ground as she tripped and fell headlong, landing painfully with a thud. Her knees and elbows had been scraped raw by the fall on the rocky ground; and trickles of blood were dripping onto her clothes. As fast as she could, ignoring her screaming muscles, the girl scrambled upright, turning back to look as she did. The fire was very close now; devouring all in its path with hungry tongues of flame. Simon and the littluns were stumbling down the incline, and Kitty grabbed Percival bodily and hoisted him down onto reasonably level ground, shoving the shell-shocked boy hard in the back to make him move again. Meanwhile, Simon had managed to chivvy the other littluns forward, and he jumped down the ledge himself; landing heavily on his knees. Kitty helped him upright, and they stumbled onward, breath coming in ragged pants. Kitty felt as if clawed hands were squeezing her chest; jagged shards of pain tore through her. She knew she was nearly spent.

"Nearly - there," she gasped, more for the purpose of reassuring herself than for anyone else to hear. The booming of the flames engulfed all sound. Kitty knew, at the back of her mind, that she was lying to herself. The smoke was filling her nostrils, choking her with its acrid smell. The flames were very close.

Then all at once they staggered through the last bushes and their feet were pounding on hot sand. They had left the jungle and were on the beach, close to the platform and the bathing pool. The last of Kitty's wind left her lungs in a spontaneous gasp of relief as she fell forward onto the sand. She could run no more. The fire had eaten the screen of bushes and raged on for about a square mile of forest, but it did not seem to be spreading any more. Beside her, Simon fell to his knees, resting his hands on his kneecaps and bending his head forward. It was only now that Kitty realised what a sight they must look; Simon was sooty and scratched from the run, and she had to look the same. The littluns were whimpering, but Kitty had not the energy to comfort them.

Voices advancing across the beach made her raise her head wearily; the fire party had descended the mountain and were coming back, making for the platform. They seemed possessed by supreme excitement; now and again a boy would give a whoop and maybe a jump into the air. Happy conversation floated across the beach. It was only now that Kitty realised, with a surge of sick anger, how the fire must have been started.

Jack and Ralph, grinning from ear to ear, were leading the procession; they hailed the group on the sand as they drew near.

"Hi - Kitty! Simon!"

Kitty slowly got to her feet as they approached; Simon did the same. Neither of them spoke as the other boys stopped in front of them, ranges across the beach.

Jack broke the silence. "Look at our fire! We made it on the mountain, but it got away from us, you should have seen the smoke!"

Ralph joined in excitedly. "Any ship for miles would've seen that! It was wizard, you two should have been there!"

There was a babble of eager chatter, but it fell into scattered shreds of whispers as the mass of boys noticed the soot that covered Kitty, Simon and the littluns, and the blood flowing freely from the scrapes they had suffered.

Kitty's throat seemed constricted; her attempt at speech came out an incensed, trembling whisper.

"Wizard, was it? Well, look at the jungle! You've burnt half of it up. Look at us! We were caught by the fire; we could've died in there! And all you can say is that it was wizard!"

There was ashamed muttering among the ranks; Jack bored a hole into the sand with the toe of his shoe. No one wanted to meet Kitty's eyes. The girl turned away. Tears were welling up at the corner of each eye, spilling over and making runnels through the dirt on her face. Through the haze, she gazed at the group who had nearly lost their lives in the forest. Then she stopped short in horror.

"_Donald?"_

There were only three littluns on the beach.

Kitty whirled around, frantically scanning the crowd ranged across the beach. "Donald? Donald! Where are you?" The tears were flowing faster now. The booming drumroll of the fire pervaded the silent beach. Kitty stared at the leaping flames.

"No!"

The muttering had stopped; replaced by a deathly silence. Jack's face was pale under his hair, and Ralph seemed rooted to the spot, swaying slightly. Kitty pushed through the crowd of boys and ran to the edge of the forest where the flames started.

"Donald!"

There was no answer but the crackling of the flames. Choking on the smoke and tears, Kitty stumbled through the mass on the beach, the boys parting to form a ragged path as she strode, dishevelled, blood-stained and dirty, through their midst. Her tears were spotting the sand under her feet. Ralph peered against the heat haze at the dark figure rapidly diminishing as she progressed along the beach. Momentarily, Kitty disappeared into the undergrowth of the platform, but reappeared, silhouetted against the red ball of the sun, on the very edge of the platform that jutted out into blue sea. The black shadow sat down on the pink rock of the platform, hugging her knees and resting her head on them. The evening cry of the seagulls pierced and made a mockery of the silent boys and the all-pervading noise of the arching flames.

* * *

Later, when the sun had drowned in the far waters of the horizon and darkness, accompanied by the fresh scent of the candle-flowers, had settled over the island, Kitty was still sitting. She had fallen into a kind of half-sleep, half-trance, and images of both Donalds flitted through her mind, coupled with memories of her mother and father. Kitty felt numb. Dead. They were all dead. And she hadn't been able to do anything about it, she had been either too slow or too stupid to pick up on the danger that had been surrounding them. Waves of memory rushed through her and she shuddered. 

A slight noise behind Kitty made her look up; Ralph had climbed the platform and was standing beside her, his fair hair pale in the moonlight as it obscured his face. He was staring out to sea, watching the waves roll against the dark rock and the silver glitter of moonlight as it poured over the black sea. Kitty dismissed the boy beside her and returned to her silent vigil.

Ralph cleared his throat.

"Kitty - about today - I'm sorry."

The words rang out loud against the muted rush of the waves. Kitty did not even move from her position. Instead, she gazed out to the horizon, hardly visible in the night as it blended into the sea. Her voice, when it came, was low and anguished.

"Ralph, it was my fault."

The fair boy laughed humourlessly. "Don't be thick. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Ralph, _I made him come._ Remember? He didn't want to, he might have gone up to see to the fire instead, he might have still been alive now! It was because of me..." Her voice trailed off. She rested her head on her knees, unwilling to continue the conversation.

Ralph just stood there for a while; after a bit Kitty heard his footsteps leading away, leaving her to sit.

* * *

**Whee, Chapter 3 is done!!!!!!!! In my opinion Kitty is being a bit stupid... so angsty:) TBC...**


	5. Chapter 4 First Hunt

**Chapter 4 **

**First Hunt**

**Disclaimer: None of the incredible, wonderful, multi-faceted characters created by William Golding BELONG TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAAAHHH!!!!!!! (breaks down completely) **

**A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews so far... and the faves, and the alerts :) I love you all... so I shall give you JACK!!!!! Even though he doesn't belong to me... **

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Oh yes... This chapter is dedicated to my younger sister, AWhirlingDervish, also known as Bill after a certain choirboy. The main reason for dedication is that Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat etc., etc., and I haven't got her a present. (And if you read her profile you may discover that she is knitting something for me.) So Merry Christmas, Bill! May you continue in your irritation (of me) forever! (Raises wine glass in a toast)

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**

After a few days the initial thrill of the coral island wore off, so that it no longer inspired amazement and awe in the children with its many wonders. To them, the faint, permanent susurration of waves breaking on the reef, the peacock-blue waters of the lagoon and the scrub-covered, pink mountain had become common-place things - part of home. For the most part, their days passed in happy peace, mainly consisting of awakening, still and cold from the night, in the pale dawn, filling their bellies with the fruit that abounded in the orchard, bathing in the pool, then finally lying down at the onset of dusk to count the stars far above, waiting for sleep to overtake them. It was a pleasant, slow existence. There were no grown-ups to hurry and chivvy them on through the days, and when they felt indolent they simply lay down in the fringed shadows of the coco-nut trees and sleep. There was no one to fuss over the state of their clothes, and so many of the littluns went naked, their small bodies burnt browner and browner by the raging sun. They, fearing the rough play of the older children, which had intensified in the absence of adult discipline, formed their own little communities in the background, carrying out their own small, separate lives by themselves. Mostly, they would squat on the beach in the mornings, constructing wildly intricate sand structures decorated with flowers, withered leaves and interesting stones and shells, around which their lives revolved. When the sun reached its zenith and ignited the smart of sunburn the littluns would retire to the shade of the orchard and guzzle all the fruit their small stomachs could take. After the sun had started on its downward path they would venture out of the shadows, slowly and painfully if afflicted by the diarrhoea that seemed to grip all the littluns, and make their way back down to the beach and continue their sand-sculpting or maybe take a tentative splash in the shallows of the bathing pool.

There had been no expeditions of exploration since the fateful day of the first fire; by now the children had their paradise pretty much well mapped out. The mountain, of course, dominated the island, a pink rocky hump thrust up suddenly through the cloaking jungle; on its summit a perpetual plume of white smoke. The rampant inferno of the first fire had been gradually tamed by the weather, though there was a burnt patch of charred vegetation that ranged a square mile down the mountainside, extending right down to the edge of the jungle where plants met sand. The choir - whom Jack had detailed to watch the fire - took shifts in which two choir members, spears in hand, would stand guard over the blaze, poking sticks into its white heart if the fire dipped. With the authority presented by Ralph and the conch in the background, the choir was forced to guard the fire even after the first interest waned. Another reason for their fealty was that Piggy's glasses, the only firemaking utensil on the island, never parted company from their wearer, and as Piggy was permanently down by the beach no one wanted to undertake the chore of dragging the fat boy up the mountain. Piggy was by now universally recognised as an outsider; his accent, glasses and ass-mar marked him out as such. Some people, such as Ralph, who relied on Piggy's intelligence in matters of judgment, and Simon, who carried within him tolerance towards all, took notice of him, but most left him strictly alone. Indeed, the more unkind boys, most notably Jack and Roger, took malicious pleasure in tormenting him when they could. Kitty put up with Piggy when there was absolutely no other option; however she felt no qualms in snapping at him when his incessant babbling annoyed her. Of all the boys Piggy was the most out of place on the island; his ass-mar and his general unfitness made it impossible to join in the rough-and-tumble of the biguns. Usually, he could be found with the littluns, even here mooning on the fringes of a group, neither wanted nor encouraged.

Coming down the mountain towards the beach, if you skirted the outline of the island, you would come upon cliffs of pink rock, massive stone structures that sheered away to a dizzying drop above the pounding ocean. Here, if you stood on the cliffs and stared out to sea, you seemed to be a tiny, insignificant creature, nothing compared to the sea, breaking and washing out, the suck and swell of the blue water like the breathing of some great animal. So far, only Jack had dared to venture out onto the cliffs.

Further along the island, if you followed the same path, was the scar made by the sliding passenger tube, a great rent ripped through the jungle. The creeping vegetation had begun to cover the wound, but under the grass and moss jagged tree trunks that had been ripped in half still marred the quiet greenery. Almost intruding onto the scar was the burnt patch of jungle that had been the result of the first fire; a wasteland of charred trunks and soft, clinging ashes that flew and swirled in the wind, blanketing everything in grey. No one was quite comfortable going there now.

The jungle came to an end around the curve of the island, which was decidedly boat-shaped. From then on, the vegetation receded to make room for a long boomerang of white sand that ran across the length of the island, the curve forming a lagoon closed in by the reef out to sea. On the beach, the sand was divided into stages; nearest the ocean was almost liquid mud, which was left in intricate, swirling patterns when the waves retreated. Further up was the truly golden sand. Damp but firm, it was carpeted in seaweed abandoned from the sea, however at some places the seaweed had been cleared by the littluns to make room for their sandcastles. Smoothly, almost imperceptibly, it shifted to the grainy white sand found right at the top of the beach. Here, the sand was so fine as to be treacherous to anyone who tried to walk on it, and it was baked by the sun so that it burnt the feet of those who were foolish enough to walk on it at midday.

After the curve of the beach diminished were more pink cliffs. Here, the arrangement of rocks was more haphazard. Great blocks of stone, broken away from each other by the primal force of Nature, were piled one on top of another, creating a piling of rocks that formed gargantuan cliffs. These continued for a bit, then the island abruptly ended. However, the piling of the rocks continued, forming a bridge of jumbled blocks that culminated in a huge, weatherworn pink rock, thrust abruptly up through roiling sea.

The day after the fire, Ralph had blown the conch as soon as it was morning; his prowess with the shell had improved, producing a strident blast of sound that roused the others from where they had been lying on the platform, the scrubby grass providing poor insulation against the chill of the night. Most of them were yawning, not used to awakening thus early; some of the littluns looked disorientated, as if they had no idea where they were.

Kitty had been lying on her side, curled up against the cold. At the sound of the conch she slowly opened her eyes. Her whole body was aching from the brutal strain that had been put on her muscles the day before, and she was stiff with cold. Her back was pressed up against a coco-nut tree and a painful ache was beginning to build up in her muscles owing to the strain they had been put through the day before. Sitting up, the girl discovered that her skin and clothes were slick with dew, and a dark patch had formed on the ground where she had been lying. Ralph, strangely self-possessed, as if waking up on an island was an everyday occurrence for him, was already seated on the Chief's log, grasping the conch loosely, running a hand through his fair hair while he waited for the others to gather.

It took a while; the littluns needed reminding of where they were, and once they knew a few mutters about breakfast made themselves heard, but after a combination of coaxing and bullying from the more assertive members of the group they finally got settled. Jack and the choir took the log that ran perpendicular to Ralph's seat, chattering as they perched themselves along it. Ralph had a log to himself; already the respect for their chief was deeply ingrained and no one tried to join him. Kitty took a seat on a palm trunk that had not fallen all the way; about two feet from the ground it had wedged itself in the tangled vegetation of the platform. The rough surface of the tree was damp; dew had run into all the cracks and crannies that pitted its worn surface.

Ralph cleared his throat before hefting the conch.

"Well. We've survived one night. And today we've got work to do."

Several people shifted unenthusiastically at the mention of work.

"I don't know about you, but I didn't half feel cold last night. It's surprising that a tropical island's this cold, but you all felt it."

A few sage nods. Ralph continued.

"Well then. You agree with me. We can't go on another night like last night, without any shelter. We might catch colds, at any rate the littluns might. And if we get sick, how will we look after ourselves? So we must build shelters. That way, we'll have somewhere to sleep. Today, we'll all work hard at them, and we'll see if we can't get them built quickly."

Ralph held out the conch to the assembled crowd.

"All right? Anyone want to say something?"

Jack leaned forward and took the conch, running his hands reverentially down the delicately embossed shell.

"You know my hunters're looking after the fire, so we don't need to build the shelters. We arranged it, two of them will be up there every day. We didn't put anyone up there yesterday after - that is, because -"

His voice trailed off. Somehow, no one liked to, but everyone stole a look at Kitty, who was sitting up very straight on her log. She was staring off into middle distance, her face white. No one knew what she was thinking. Jack cleared his throat embarrassedly before going on.

"Well... What I was saying is that we need to decide who goes up to the mountain today. Two pairs, the first goes up now and stays there until evening, then the next pair goes. I'm chapter chorister; I'll decide who it's to be."

At this, the choir had straightened up on their log; they were glancing importantly around the circle.

"All right then. Roger and Harold, you take first turn by the fire, and later... Maurice and Robert, you take over."

After this matter had been settled, Ralph held out his hands for the conch, but Jack wasn't finished.

"No. Me and the choir, we're the hunters. And you all know that we're not going to help build the shelters."

There were a few mutters around the circle at this blatant evasion of work; Jack continued hastily.

"I mean, we've got to look after the fire, right? And we're going to be hunting for you, every day! We need meat, don't we?"

There were murmurs of agreement and a few cheers. They all needed meat.

"So there you go. You lot will be helping with the shelters. And me and the choir, we'll be hunting and looking after the fire. We'll get you meat, don't you worry! We may have to wait, but we'll do it sooner or later, that's what I meant to say."

Jack set the conch down; it was immediately taken up again by Ralph.

"We'll have breakfast now, then when we've eaten we'll start on the shelters. Remember, we must work hard on them until they're all finished."

His last words were interrupted by a mass exodus from the platform to find fruit; Ralph laid down the conch and joined Kitty and Simon in an expedition to the stream that had been discovered to flow down the beach, meaning to slake their thirst before calming their hunger.

The stream that trailed along the beach was little more than a trickle; a tiny thread of water that carved out a canal for itself with its flowing rivulets, however, when the children followed the stream up the beach and into the jungle the trickle swelled to a proper stream, running through the dense undergrowth to culminate at a wide, clear pool, fed by a waterfall that tumbled in creamy cascades down an outcrop of pink rock.

Kitty felt as if it was sandpaper that lined her throat; she ran to the edge of the pool. Kneeling down, she plunged her face into the cool, clear water, shocking all the last traces of sleep out of her system. When Kitty opened her eyes underwater she could see straight down to the bottom of the pool. Waterweeds waved lazily in the current and out of the corner of her eye Kitty could see the flat, round discs that were the undersides of water lily leaves. Trying to gulp a mouthful of water, she unfortunately got some up her nose and withdrew, choking and spluttering. Beside her, Simon, lying on his stomach, had his arm outstretched across the water, trying to pull one of the white lilies that dotted the pool's surface towards him for closer examination. His body was already half-into the water, and he looked to be fast slipping into the pool. Kitty caught Ralph's eye. The older boy was drinking from the pool, using his cupped hand to draw water. There was a smile on his face at her and Simon's antics. Kitty smiled back, following Ralph's lead and using her two hands to lift water up from the pool and into her mouth.

After their thirst was slaked, the three children made their way back to the beach to find food. The others were scattered along the beach and the fringes of the jungle, plucking all the fruit they could lay hands on to satisfy their hunger after the long night. Kitty noticed that, seated in the shadows of the platform, the choir was sitting, unoccupied by finding food. Jack - his flaming hair making him stand out among the other boys - was laughing at something that had been said. He was holding a stick, about five feet long, and he was using his sheath-knife to pare the end to a sharp point. Several of the choirboys, black caps still perched on their heads, were clutching similar sharpened sticks, and as Kitty watched, Jack tested his thumb on the end of the spear he had finished and handed it to Roger beside him. Roger seemed unusually animated; he accepted the spear from Jack and ran his hands down the shaft, smiling.

Kitty trailed after Ralph and Simon, who were making their way along the beach. Somehow, the choir unsettled her, and she was sure Simon felt the same, from the expression on his face. However, all thought of this was driven out of her mind as Ralph pointed ahead, breaking into a trot.

"Look!"

He had seen a patch of banana trees, so far uninvaded by any of the other children; the fruit hung, ripe and heavy, off the branches, causing them to bow down so that they nearly touched the ground. Kitty's hunger made itself known and suddenly she found herself running after Ralph, feet pounding over the white sand, laughing as she went. Behind her, Simon was trying to catch up, but Kitty reached the trees before him. Ralph was standing, hands on hips, looking up at the abundant fruit, not quite believing in its reality. Kitty, with no such qualms, brushed past him and ripped three bananas off the full bunch, cramming one into Ralph's hands and tossing another to Simon. The three children flopped down onto the cool sand, not yet heated by the sun, peeled their bananas and ate.

Kitty could hardly believe the sweetness that made itself known in her mouth; she had only tasted a banana once before. She had been six years old. After that war and rationing made any faintly exotic fruit unknown in England. She crammed the remaining fruit into her mouth and reached up for another. Ralph looked faintly amused.

"It's not going to disappear, you know."

Kitty laughed through her mouthful of banana. "Delicious."

Simon laughed too, and bent the bunch lower to pluck another fruit.

After they had gorged all the bananas they could hold, the three children ventured along the beach, into the shadow of the multitudes of coco-nut trees that dotted the shoreline, with the vague intention of finding a drink. The coco-nuts that had fallen in the gale pitted the sand; half-buried, they looked like the shells of tortoises. Simon ran ahead of Ralph and Kitty and grabbed a coco-nut from where it lay on the sand. It was heavy for the small boy and he had to use both hands to clasp it, raising it to chest level. Turning to Ralph and Kitty, Simon held the coco-nut out, his face bright.

The coco-nut was not easy to open; they found its shell to be rock-hard under the hairs that sprouted from its surface, and it took all Ralph's effort with a sizable stone to crack it open. However, after an episode of hard banging, an ugly rent opened up in the coco-nut. White milk trickled out and Ralph caught some in his cupped palm, licking it off. His eyes widened in surprise.

"It's good!"

This was the cue for Simon and Kitty to join in; they took alternate gulps at the coco-nut milk and later dug the white meat out of the shell with their hands. Kitty raised a portion to her lips. It tasted faintly of almonds, and even with her stomach full of banana she gulped her mouthful. After they had scraped the coco-nut shell clean, Ralph wiped his mouth and stood.

"Come on. Enough relaxing. We've got to get those shelters built."

* * *

At first, everyone except the choir, who, led by Jack, were spending their days hunting, had worked on the shelters. Under Piggy's direction, the children had constructed a roughly triangular framework of branches, using the relatively stout, straight limbs they found scattered on the ground, a result of the storm that had brought the plane down. This they thatched with palm fronds. Piggy himself sat the building of the shelters out, pleading ass-mar. This, needless to say, caused several mutinous mutterings and dark glares from among the labourers, which Ralph, as chief, did his best to quell. 

"That's enough. I told you, we've got to work together. Piggy can't work like we do, what with his ass-mar and all. But he can tell us what we should do."

Michael, a stocky boy about eleven years old with a thatch of pale, fair hair, was working next to Kitty. Together they lifted a gargantuan palm frond to thatch a portion of the first shelter's roof. At Ralph's remark, Michael, under cover of the blanketing palm leaves, rolled his eyes and turned to Kitty.

"Not half he can! It's all he's doing! I don't see why Ralph's so nice to him, all he does is sit and tell us what to do!"

Kitty nodded her assent, more by way of saving her breath than out of any true agreement. Actually, the mindless work they were currently engaged in set the stage for more serious pondering than was characteristic for the girl.

The truth was, Kitty thought, that Piggy would have been useless as a labourer on the shelters. His ass-mar prevented him from any manual labour; at the slightest provocation the fat boy would succumb to it, wheezing helplessly. But Piggy, for all he was useless for anything physical, had more brains than anybody. Without him, Kitty realised, they would never have come up with a plausible shelter design, and without his constant flow of comments and reminders they would have been lost long ago. Even though the fat boy was hopeless at physical work; this fact constantly earning him ridicule and mockery from among the other children, no one seemed to notice how his bespectacled face was a screen for a rational and intelligent mind. In thinking, Piggy had his niche, but no one appreciated it.

The sun burned fiercely overhead; Kitty could feel the heat on the back of her neck. They had not yet had time to be browned by the sun, but all the children sported skin red and flaky from sunburn. Kitty's was along her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. Absentmindedly, the girl rubbed a dirty finger along her face, dragging free flakes of skin. Wincing at the pain, Kitty turned to join Michael and Leslie, who were having trouble lugging a palm branch over to the shelter.

* * *

Over the next few days, after the initial enthusiasm, the children's interest in shelter-building palled, and they drifted away from the shelters in ones and twos, to bathe or eat or play on the beach. Kitty, finding the building of the shelters monotonous after working steadily at them for days, deviated from the work. 

The girl was lying on her stomach, right at the edge of the platform, watching the slow suck and swell of the waves as they washed in and out. It was approaching high tide, and every now and again a wave would smack hard against the pink rock of the platform, drenching Kitty with spray. The noon sun shone through the green waves, and the sky was reflected in the sea, tinting it turquoise. Far below Kitty, a shoal of tiny, brilliantly-coloured fish flicked and swam like shards of rainbow glass, and now and again a larger, silver fish would dart among the shoal.

Kitty had the idea of trying some fishing. As she basked in the sun, she drew a length of string out of her skirt pocket, tying on the end a scrap of meat from the crabs that came out onto the shore when the evening cooled down. These small creatures were as yet the only source of meat that they were able to catch; the children had devised a way of grabbing a crab that saved one's fingers from the pincers. Then there was the trek up to the mountain to cook the crab in the embers or to take fire from the mountain to cook down on the beach. Now she cast her makeshift fishing line as far as she could, only to have it washed back to bump against the platform by the waves. The water was so clear Kitty could see far down, through the waving seaweed to have her vision peter out into a wash of dark blue.

Kitty had her arm propped up by the elbow; as the minutes passed without a bite it stiffened and went to sleep. The girl shifted position until she was sitting cross-legged, the pink stone of the platform warm under her. As the sun progresses through the sky Kitty's muscles were locked into place by cramp. She could still see her line and bait floating on the water's surface, bobbing gently with the waves. Every now and again a wave would throw it up to wedge in one of the crannies that pitted the rock of the platform. Then began the long, arduous process of inching out on the stomach, gently teasing the makeshift fishing line out of its logdement and recasting. Kitty was about to give it up as a bad job when suddenly there was a flash of silver among the hair-like weeds, dragging the bait down into the murky blue. The line went taut. Kitty, whose grip on the string had slackened, found it being dragged through her clasping fingers. She recovered in time to make a grab for it and slowly began to haul it in, hand over hand. It was a miracle the fish did not relinquish the scrap of crab meat with the inexpert way Kitty was trying to play it, but after a while the string had shortened enough for Kitty to be able to make out a flash of gleaming scales as the fish thrashed among the seaweed.

A shadow, starkly defined by the sun, fell across the water. The fish, in a sudden spurt of panic, spat out the bait and vanished into the clinging weed. Kitty whipped around. Jack was standing on the platform, leaning casually on his spear. His bare chest was streaked with sweat and dirt, and the constant sun had bleached his hair to sandy. He was still wearing his choir cap, but this article of clothing was a trifle battered and torn by now. Standing there, jaunty, assured, he regarded Kitty with his old superciliousness.

"What're you doing?"

Kitty, annoyed at his sudden appearance, ripped the bit of crab off the end of her string and tossed it overarm into the water; Jack followed its path as it arced through the air to land with a plop, sparking off an immediate splash and scramble among the shoal of fish.

"Fishing."

Fiercely, she stuffed the string in her pocket and rose to leave. Jack regarded her with amusement. He knew she was shirking the shelter-building, and it rankled. Kitty roughly brushed the dark hair from out of her eyes. She had long since lost her hair-ribbon in the jungle and her hair, which reached down to below her shoulders, was constantly falling into her eyes and building up heat on the back of her neck. Jack kept in step with her as she strode along the platform.

"Pretty poor sport."

Kitty snorted.

"Well, what would you suggest?"

"Hunting."

Rolling her eyes, Kitty gazed down at the bathing pool. As well as those who had gone off from the shelters, the choir boys were also splashing and laughing in the sun. They had somehow dragged a palm trunk down to the water and were using it as a makeshift canoe; the boys on the trunk were using their hands and feet to paddle around the pool. Ripples fanned out in their wake and as Kitty watched, Robert swam alongside the log and grabbed Maurice's leg; the choir boy toppled into the water with a splash and resurfaced to push Robert under. Kitty turned back to Jack.

"They don't look too interested."

Jack absentmindedly dug a hole in the sandy soil with his spear.

"I sent them back. Ages ago. I wanted to go on by myself."

Kitty looked sideways at him; he reddened, felt the need to expound.

"It's better on my own. I mean - If you're hunting, you want quiet, you want to be alone..."

Kitty gave a cursory nod, continuing down the platform. "Why didn't you tell your hunters to help with the shelters? We could do with some help." She gestured down the beach to where the distant figures of Ralph and Simon were toiling away at the huts.

Something undefinable, a fleeting madness, flickered in Jack's eyes and passed away.

"Really? I don't see you helping." His voice carried a vicious satisfaction. Kitty flushed as she realised that she hadn't a leg to stand on. The knowledge made her annoyed.

"You needn't be so complacent. What's so good about hunting anyway? The way I see it, you've been playing in the forest all day."

That strange look was back; Kitty felt herself taking a step backwards as Jack laughed dangerously.

"Oh, so that's the way you see hunting, is it? Well, I know one way to change that."

"What's that?"

"Come along with me."

* * *

The two children descended from the platform onto a deserted beach; Ralph and Simon had deserted the shelters, presumably to bathe, though Kitty could only see Ralph in the bathing pool. Jack strode ahead, hair flashing in the sunlight. He headed to the edge of the bathing pool, where several of his hunters had stashed their spears prior to entering the water. Selecting a spear from where it had been carelessly tossed on the beach, he tossed it to Kitty. 

"Here you go."

Kitty ran her hands down the rough haft of her spear. Jack hadn't done a good job of shaping it, so it was still crooked in places and the bark came off in flakes with the progress of her hand. Not much care had been lavished on the spear itself, but Kitty couldn't help noticing how the end had been painstakingly honed into a crude point.

Jack was watching her impatiently. "Well, come on!"

Kitty's hair had flopped into her eyes again; the girl brushed it away impatiently, only to have it return to its former position within seconds. Exasperated, she turned to Jack.

"Can I borrow your knife?"

Mystified, the boy withdrew it from its sheath and handed it over.

"Thanks." Kitty propped the spear up against a coco-nut tree and gathered her hair up in one hand. Awkwardly, she positioned Jack's knife under the crude ponytail and sawed. It wasn't easy, but after a few seconds the strands of dark hair parted and fell around Kitty's ears. Her new haircut just tipped her shoulders, and Kitty was left clutching a bundle of dark strands. She let them fall with a laugh.

Jack was watching her with unconcealed amazement. Kitty handed him back his knife and picked up her spear. She turned her head this way and that, feeling the way her new haircut fell around her shoulders.

"We can go now."

Visibly stunned, Jack led the way into the jungle.

* * *

It was a little after noon by the sun, so they were spared the hottest rays; but the heat still lurked, almost visible, in the jungle. The humid air swept over Kitty's skin, heavy and hot. Already, despite her new haircut, beads of sweat were beginning to condense on her forehead and the base of her neck. Jack, however, looked as if the heat was no bother, moving easily through the tangle of creepers, bent double not out of necessity but in a fluid, exaggerated motion. He seemed to be following some invisible trace of his quarry on the ground. Kitty trailed behind, mystified. In the green, cool shadows of the forest Jack had changed from the arrogant choir leader to something altogether mysterious, disappearing into the background as if he was a creature of the jungle himself. Kitty could only follow him as he moved through the vines, acutely aware how clumsy she looked as she struggled to extricate her spear from the ridiculous tangles it got into. The myriad of crickets made for a continuous hum of sound that settled into the air itself. 

After a while of battling their way through the creepers, Jack motioned Kitty forward. He bludgeoned down the screen of vegetation with his spear; stepped through the passage onto a narrow, well-trodden path. Kitty followed, relieved to be out of the clinging vines. Bending down to examine the tracks that pitted the rich mud of the path, the girl turned to Jack.

"Pigs. This is a pig track."

Jack nodded, starting off at a steady lope down the path, face close to the ground. Kitty sighed and strode after him.

What track Jack was following was unclear; but he was swift and sure in his movements, the dappled green shadows of the leaves sliding over him as he ran. The aloofness that he shown Kitty earlier had vanished, replaced by an eager hunger that Kitty unsuccessfully tried to define. As she stumbled along the uneven path behind the hunter, Kitty allowed her thoughts to slip into that realm of undefined, floating fragments, not enough to be daydreams, enough to occupy her mind as she grew bored with following Jack moving through the jungle.

After they had followed the pig-run for a while Jack broke off abruptly; Kitty, caught by surprise, careened after him, clattering the foliage as she changed direction.

Jack was visibly annoyed.

"Shh."

He knelt on the ground to examine his latest find, a small pile of manure, almost hidden against the grass. Kitty stood, wondering what he could tell from them. At this moment, Jack's hunting seemed nothing short of miraculous. Kitty hadn't the faintest idea how he had been following the trail all this time, always so swift, so assured. Her admiration for the choir leader rose another notch.

Jack rose from his kneeling position and parted the branches of the bushes that were fast-to-colonising the pig-run, taking care to be silent.

"Come on - this way."

They pushed through into a clearing. The sun shone through the canopied branched and was split into shafting arrows; swirling dust motes were highlighted with the late afternoon light. In the high branches the birds cackled, flitting specks of colour. Kitty moved to the centre of the clearing.

Jack shoved past her impatiently; he had noticed what she hadn't, a line of pig tracks bruising the turf, thrown-up earth scattered around the deep prints. They looked fresh. Jack knelt, face close to the ground, to examine this new piece of evidence. Kitty, meanwhile, stood next to him, feeling out of sorts and annoyed. She was beginning to find the whole hunt wearing.

Something, some dim sixth sense, warned Kitty of impending danger. The bushes on the far side of the clearing exploded in a shower of leaves and twigs and all at once a pig was charging across the glade straight towards them. It had become so petrified at the constant pursuit that it had lost all its bearings and was risking everything by attacking first. Jack, taken by surprise, scrambled up from where he had been kneeling, trying to get his spear point up in time, but there was no chance of it. The pig had already covered half the distance across the clearing towards them. Jack yelled.

"Stab it, Kitty! -"

Kitty was paralysed. Time seemed to slow as she watched the whole scene as a detached observer. Distantly, she regarded the spear that she held, not quite sure what to do with it. The scene with the first pig intruded on her memory and she shuddered, envisioning the crude, blackened spear point sinking into the pig's black hide, through flesh, cracking bone - Then the pig was upon her. Kitty flailed ineffectually with the butt of her spear to change its course but she was overbalanced by the pig cannoning into her. She fell heavily.

Jack fumbled for his knife as the pig bore down on him; realising that he did not have the time to spare he stabbed forwards with his spear. It tore the pig down the flank and it let out a maddened squeal, charging with renewed intent and bowling Jack over into the mud. Then, blood trailing from the shallow cut, it sped off into the jungle.

Kitty had fallen awkwardly on her arm and twisted it; wincing, she gingerly levered herself up into a sitting position. Exhaling, she opened her mouth to make some comment.

A spear buried itself in the soft earth, too close for comfort. Kitty, startled, looked up to see Jack standing over her. His fists were clenched and his jaw muscles were strained tight; he was trembling. The madness had totally overlaid his eyes and they were blocked and opaque. The spear quivered where it had been driven. Reaching forward in a sudden fall of movement, Jack wrenched it out of the loam, showering Kitty with fragments of earth. She scrambled upright. It was now that they were face to face that she realised just how tall Jack was; he stood almost a head taller than her and the rage in his eyes was coupled with that mysterious insanity that defied description.

Jack forced the words out from between tightly clenched teeth.

"You let it get away."

His hand flew to the knife at his belt. Kitty, scared and bemused, backed away from him.

"It was just bad luck, Jack, it came out of the bushes too fast, I couldn't stab it..."

Jack was clutching the handle of his knife so tightly his knuckles were white.

"You made me miss that pig! We could have brought it down, we would have gotten meat for everyone!"

"I'm sorry, Jack! There's always next time..."

Jack gave a bitter laugh, impregnated with something akin to disgust.

"Just like a girl! Always making excuses. Well, it's your fault that we didn't get this pig. We could have hunted properly - killed something -"

He turned abruptly on his heel and strode to the edge of the clearing.

"It just goes to show - girls are no use for anything. That day on the mountain, that was a man's job, and so is this! Useless!"

Jack walked away fast into the jungle; in a short time the creepers and leaves had swallowed up his departing form.

* * *

Kitty was left standing in the centre of the clearing, stupefied. Jack's irrational rage had disquieted her. The soft earth of the clearing was ploughed and torn by the pig's hooves and Jack's spear, where he had stabbed and missed, had ripped a long, deep furrow. Crimson specks flecked the soil, and a heavy, salty scent lingered in the air. 

Kitty regarded the scene of destruction. Her gorge rose and nausea flooded her system, and she turned blindly and stumbled from the clearing.

The moisture in the air was almost palpable with the onset of evening, even though the temperature was dipping with the sun; and the chill settled softly into the bones of the island. Kitty only realised that the sweat was dripping off her when it ran into her eyes and stung them with salt. She flung back her thick, dark fringe and realised that she was still gripping the pitted shaft of her spear and that the muscles in her hand were cramped and aching.

The jungle was darkening and the buzz of the crickets was one continuous hum. The air was very close. Kitty, momentarily tightening her grip on the spear, flung it with all her strength. It crashed into a bank of bushes and they exploded into noise; a bright bird fluttered upwards, fluting. The noises of the jungle were disrupted into dissonance; then they were still.

A small voice broke the heated silence.

"Kitty, what's wrong?"

The shock was dull and sudden; the girl stumbled into a clumsy turn, feet slipping on the earth. Peering through the mist in front of her eyes she made out the slight figure standing shyly by, the shafts of sun playing through his fair hair.

"Simon?"

Simon's fair hair had been bleached by the raging sun into a pale whiteness tantamount to the sand at the top of the beach; he had been tanned also, so that the thatch of pale hair came as a sharp contrast to his brown features.

"Where did you spring from?"

Simon sat down on the grass. Kitty followed his lead. The choirboy did not answer the question, instead preferring to repeat his first.

"What's wrong?"

The sense of something inexplicably not right assailed Kitty; she could not find the words to express herself.

"Today... we went hunting. Jack and me, I mean. And there was a pig... and we could have killed it, but I just couldn't, I mean, I had the chance but I didn't. And I don't know why, and Jack was so angry, just because of that pig... he scared me."

Simon regarded her gravely for a moment; then he scrambled upright and started to walk off into the jungle. After he had walked a little way, he turned back and beckoned.

"Come on."

He led Kitty through tortuous tangles of creeper and branch. The forest became thicker the further they went, so that Simon had to kneel down to wriggle through some difficult bits. Kitty, not as skinny as the younger boy, found it very hard going.

The light had almost gone when Simon stopped.

"In here."

They had reached a thick, tangled mass of creepers, woven together so as to form a mat that stretched among the other trees. Slightly beyond the mat was a small clearing. The air was bright with the setting sun, and hot, and multi-coloured butterflies danced and dipped around the jungle flowers. The ground was dappled with green shadows and the clearing was very still, except for the wings of the butterflies.

Not waiting for Kitty, Simon dropped to all fours and pushed his way in through the wall of creepers. The girl followed. Inside the skein of vines all was still, and the light was green and gold. An errant patch of light crawled up Simon's bare back, swaying uncertainly, then climbed up onto his hair, where it vanished. The smell of the earth was hot and wet.

Simon pushed aside the last screens of creepers.

"Here we are."

There was a small open space in the centre of the mat; a small depression where the grass had been worn away. The dying sunlight shafted in between the creepers and touched the scene with gold. Simon wormed his way in to the clear patch, twisting aside some of the hanging vines to make a space for Kitty. She sat down beside him.

"Well?"

Simon seemed to be choosing his words. He absentmindedly brushed the dark soil off his knees, then turned to Kitty with new purpose in his eyes.

"About Jack..."

His voice petered out as he tried to explain. Finally he cast around for inspiration.

Almost in the centre of the mat, a foot or two away from where they were sitting, a tree trunk pierced the tangled creepers. It had been there beforehand and the vines had grown up around it, choking the life from the branches on the lower part of the trunk; they hung dry and dead in the moist air. Simon wriggled along to the base of the tree and cautiously parted the roof of creepers overhead; even in pursuit of something as he now was he still seemed unwilling to break any of the vines; pushing them aside almost tenderly. Kitty watched as he managed to stand fully upright, the upper half of his body disappearing from view.

When Simon ducked back under cover of the mat he was clutching a round, red fruit, caught by the sunlight. In a sudden flash of recognition, Kitty remembered the day of the first fire. Squatting back down, he balanced it on the centre of his palm.

"All right. Look. Jack is like this."

Kitty laughed and prodded the fruit, soft under her finger.

"You're batty."

She missed the bewildered hurt in Simon's eyes.

The younger boy stuck his chin out obstinately.

"I can't explain it, but it's true. The thing about this fruit..."

Kitty felt herself foundering in this sea of half-formed ideas.

"What about it?"

"Well... It looks good on the outside, but it's not for eating. I mean -" he drove home his point. "It's poisonous."

The light went suddenly and the shadows multiplied; the snake-creepers seemed to close in. There was a slight rustle as Simon flung the fruit away, then the soft crashing of the creepers as it came to earth.

The jungle seemed to close in around them and the silence dragged on. Finally, Kitty stood, ignoring the creaking of the smaller creepers as they were torn up. The mat in the dark was somehow claustrophobic and Kitty stretched with abandon. As she bent back down and began to crawl for the edges of the mat, the pale blur that was Simon did not move, watching her confusion.

* * *

**OK, by the time I'd finished this chapter Christmas was over, so I can say that I was wrong about what Bill was making me. AND I LOVE HER FOR IT!!!!!!!! She took a file and totally COVERED it with LOTF pictures and then covered them with plastic wrap. So I now have a really COOL Lord of the Flies file to use at school next year!!! Congratulate me, people! And I promise that the next chapter won't take this long for me to post, though now I'm coping with EVIL tests and squash nationals.**

**To HAROLD: Whoo!! I updated!**


	6. Chapter 5 The Taste of Power

**Chapter 5**

**The Taste of Power**

**OK OK, a new year has come around, I am back in Singapore and I have moved up a year in the school echelons. And can I take the opportunity to say HOW UPSET I AM NOT TO BE IN SAM'S CLASS?!!?!?!?!?! How am I to preserve her interest in LOTF without sitting behind her, ready to torment her with "Jack is SO handsome" at every waking moment???? Other friends I have lost include Maurice and Robert and Harold. THAT IS SO UNFAIR!! They should make it a LAW that members of the LOTF community here cannot be separated. Ah well. I still have Piggy and Simon, and Simon is currently helping me with an Eragon fic that I conceived a week or two ago - she has a character in the story dedicated to her. So look out for it!**

**Oh, me and my class just went to this exhibition on the Nobel _laureates_ (see what vocab I learned), and guess who I was looking out for? If you said William Golding you've got it in one. There was about one mention of him, at the Literature section. Pathetic. I guess I should be pleased - there are 700-odd Nobel laureates and we were lucky to get ONE mention of Mr. Golding.**

**Disclaimer: BLAH BLAH BLAH DO NOT OWN LOTF OR JACK MERRIDEW OR ROGER CAUSE THEY FEATURE MAJORLY IN THIS CHAPTER... I do, however, own Kitty. Finally, someone I do own.

* * *

**

As the days passed, Kitty found herself venturing to the mat more often. She knew now how better to negotiate the twisting runnels of creepers, so that her forays into the green were less of a chore. The silence of the mat in the green provided her with comfort from the shattered, blazing light, where rescue was the perennial but insoluble problem and the world was so far away. In the jungle the green light and cool, sticky air had an almost soporific effect on Kitty. Perhaps Simon would be there, or perhaps not, or maybe halfway through her reverie he would come scrambling through the calm. Then he would sit down beside Kitty, showing no sign of having noticed her, and quickly occupy himself with his own thoughts. So they would sit as the shadows lengthened and the jungle shifted from day to night, not speaking, in silent companionship. It was enough.

Kitty no longer thought of the time passing in days; they melded into each other with the murmuring of the waves, so that days and weeks and months became merely turns of the earth. Sometimes it was glaringly light with the sun overhead, other times it was velvet-dark except for the pale, uncertain stars. They rose with the sun because the slanting rays slashed through closed eyelids, penetrating the crude, palm-thatched shelter walls and making sleep impossible. The littluns, who possessed a miraculous ability to sleep through all but the high noon light, would cuddle back down into their mattresses of dry leaves as the biguns crawled towards the narrow openings. Many of them had given up playing by the water's edge altogether, preferring instead to sleep - or pretend to sleep - the day away, only rising when the need for food became too strong for their small, growling stomachs.

The biguns, unable to emulate the deathlike sleep of the littluns, would wander aimlessly along the beach first thing after getting up, sleep-blurred figures making for the nearest stand of coco-nut trees or perhaps the orchard. By this time the shelters had been finished, so Ralph no longer demanded their toil, and there was nothing to occupy them through the days while the waves rolled on. The monotony of it lay heavily on them all. Perhaps after their breakfast they would descend into the waters of the bathing pool, going through the motions of play with single-minded earnestness.

Kitty still held onto the fragmented memories of that first golden day, when everything had been a fresh delight and the island had never ceased to amaze. Often she would sit by the platform and try to recapture the wonder, which teased her, shallowly flicking across the faces of things for a moment before fading away. Then her pensive silence would attract Ralph or Simon or Maurice, when he was not out hunting, and one of them would come over and they would fall into the game of supposing.

Supposing they all would be rescued the next day? Then they would fly back across the ocean, back to England, which miraculously would be just the way they had left it, then they could go home and everything would be normal again.

The other person would cap this neatly and the wonderings would grow more and more fantastic as more and more people joined in the game. Sitting in a circle in the sand, they would throw their fantasies back and forth to each other, so often that favourites were developed and Kitty found herself half-believing the marvellous stories she told. The game was never sustained for long, however; as the imaginings grew so a sense of despondency settled on them all and one by one they would hurry away, back to the bathing pool, where one could empty one's mind and immerse oneself in the play.

Kitty had fallen into the habit of telling the time by the passage of the sun. When it was at its height the children, obedient to their hunger, would wander to the orchard and fill their stomachs with fruit - it had grown so sickly that no one really took pleasure in eating it. When the sun slipped below the horizon the light would go as suddenly as a snuffed-out candle. In the darkness nothing except sleep was possible, so they would return to the shelters to turn among the leaves, sleep far away.

Kitty shared a shelter with Ralph, Piggy, Simon and Samneric, among others. At night sleep took a long time to come, even though she was always exhausted. But it would come in the end. And sometimes she would dream.

* * *

In her dream, Kitty was once again in that place - where was it? she couldn't remember - somewhere in Scotland. She had been about eleven and they had gone on a hike together - just the three of them, her, Donny and their father - through the forests and up the mountains. Deep in the dream, Kitty remembered hazily that her mother had been reluctant to let them go; she had been eleven and Donald just barely three. It was too long a hike for such young children, she had said. 

Kitty's father had laughed at this. She remembered his head thrown back, his face made handsome by the laughter. Faced with such carefree defiance, Kitty's mother had caved.

It had been winter and the air biting, but in the dream the summer sun was shining and Kitty's father was clad in his shirt sleeves. Donny capered around him, dressed in a striped bathing costume.

"Come on, Kitty! We'll miss the daylight! And Kitty -" he paused and pointed at her - " why on earth are you wearing _that_ old thing?"

Kitty looked down and realised that she was wearing a black choir cloak, the long silver cross emblazoned down its side. The frill was tight and uncomfortable at her neck, yet she never thought to loosen it. The light of the dream was disjointed and fuzzy; the sun shone in from all sides, vaguely, as if not sure where it came from. Donny's edges seemed blurred, as if he were just starting to disappear.

They were standing in a forest glade, a shard of memory from that hike when everything had been bright and normal. Across one side of the clearing a stream flowed, adding its chatter to the otherwise silent dream-world. As Kitty watched, the stream shifted in and out of focus, unsettling twinges in perception that made her dream-self reel.

Kitty crossed to the stream; mud staining the cloak and her feet, which she realised were bare. Blurrily aware of herself, she picked up a flat stone which fit her palm nicely and skimmed it across the water, which had now become smooth as glass. The stone skipped three times, satisfactorily, before disappearing with a plunk. The water resumed its seawards course.

She had not been aware of Donny before this time; now he skipped past her, whistling merrily. Kitty just had time to blearily remind herself that Donny had never been able to whistle, this in itself a great source of annoyance to him - when her brother paused at the edge of the stream, and, exaggerating the preparatory position for diving, jumped and vanished into the flowing water.

Standing dispassionately at the edge of the water, Kitty vaguely managed to realise that she should probably be frantic, but she couldn't muster up the energy. Then a hand descended on her shoulder and she jumped.

Her father had come up behind her and was clutching her shoulder; his face had disintegrated into a formless blend of colours and he towered over her, seemingly grown to twice his normal size. Her shoulder was paining from the grip and fear had risen up to overtake her.

"Where's Donny?" His voice echoed in the bright, still light.

"I don't know!" Kitty felt herself shouting against this menace. Her father increased the pressure on her shoulder, tilting her backwards until she was teetering over the stream; surely she must fall, any minute now...

Then the glade faded around her and Kitty was standing in a void, blackness swirling all round. She could feel firm ground under her bare feet but nothing could she see. Panicked, she flung an arm out in front of her but detected only empty space. Her shoulder was stabbing with pain.

Then the darkness receded around a point somewhere in the distance. A pinprick of light was shining, penetrating the black, rapidly growing. Kitty reached out towards it, entranced. The light grew and split into a corona of shafting rays that extended out from around a central tunnel of brightness.

The brightness was obscured by a figure, walking towards her. It was not so much backlighted by the rays as enhanced by it, as if the boy himself was made of solid light. Kitty shielded her face as the figure came closer and the light intensified to the point past endurance.

"Simon?"

The boy smiled. It was Simon, also wearing a choir cloak, but his was drenched by the gold and the black was hidden. The halo formed by light shining behind him Kitty had noticed on the day of the exploration was there, but more pronounced as the tunnel grew to almost engulf them both. The swirling dark still ate away at the edges of the light but it had been banished from the vicinity.

There was a point of red among the soft gold. Simon held out his hand in the familiar palm-up gesture and Kitty saw that he was balancing a red globule on his palm.

"What is it, Simon? Why are we here?"

Simon smiled again and pointed to the fruit.

"What? What is it?"

Simon's smile faded a little and he looked grave, indicating the fruit again.

Kitty's frustration reached a height.

"_What?_ What do you want to tell me? Can't you talk? Answer me!"

Simon lowered his head. Kitty tried to rush towards him and would have shaken him by the shoulders but her movement was strangely sluggish. As she reached out her hands Simon seemed to vanish from under them and Kitty was falling backwards again, the light gone and the blackness flooding around her, down and down and down...

* * *

Kitty woke up with a start; her breath was coming in short gasps and sweat poured off her forehead and down the nape of her neck. Through the gaps in the walls of the shoddily-built shelter she could see the first faint flush of dawn beginning to make itself known. Grimacing, Kitty brushed away the dry leaves that were sticking to her and twined into her hair. She had been lying oddly on her shoulder and it was twisted under her and aching abominably. The other inmates of the shelter had not been woken by her tossing and turning; as she watched Ralph mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep and turned over again. 

The air of the morning was very still, and hot, unlike the usual coolness. Now that the perspiration caused by the dream had faded Kitty noticed that drops of water were once again beginning to pop out on her clammy skin. Every breath she took was tight with a sense of foreboding.

Simon moaned slightly in his dreams and tossed violently, throwing out an arm and sending dry leaves flying. His face was twisted, but he did not wake. Kitty felt the need for fresh air and crawled towards the opening of the shelter.

It may have been dawn but among the woven mat of creepers the light was almost non-existent. The air was close and still. Kitty pressed herself against the damp earth, trying to leech from it the comfort she had been denied in the shelter. The claggy mud clung to her clothes and left great stains, cold against her skin. Giving up, Kitty wriggled into a sitting position and peered out from between the creepers, into the clearing where the butterflies normally danced, but as of now was damp and still. The wet air hung over the jungle like a blanket.

Kitty felt her eyes closing, but the heat of the air settled on her skin and made sleep impossible. Momentarily, she was assailed by a momentous sense of dread.

Kitty sensed rather than saw the sun's rising as a minute increase in light. Finding the fractional increase in warmth too much to bear, sought out the clear passage to the edge of the mat and wormed her way through it, the creepers pulling together behind her as she went. As she traversed, Kitty noticed that the wind had picked up and that the clattering of the creepers was not entirely due to her own efforts. There was no change in the temperature; the wind was hot and harsh. It scoured Kitty's face as she finally worked herself free of the creepers and stood and stretched in the relative spaciousness of the jungle. Kitty noticed that what sky she could see above the trees was clouded over; and what light she could see was brassy and unnatural from the stark contrast. The wind blew again and knocked the breath from her chest with a damp slap. Kitty, feeling uneasiness that was as yet undefined, started hurriedly back down the incline to the shelters.

She was halfway down and out of the deepest, most tangled recesses of the forest when the sky exploded around her. With the thunderclap came rain so thick and pelting that it was like standing under a waterfall. The wind shrieked up to fever pitch, catching Kitty of balance and causing her to stumble a few panicked steps down the hill until she caught a branch to steady herself. The light had almost totally gone now, and suddenly the darkness was torn open and the jungle was lit by an unearthly radiance for a second, then it was snuffed out and the thunder came again.

Kitty, spluttering and squinting through the water, clamped her hands over her ears against the noise. When she removed them, she caught, above the assorted noise of the wind and the rain came a terrible tearing creak. Kitty, glancing frantically through the curtain of rain, caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Half-slipping, half-flinging herself aside, Kitty landed flat on her back as the broken branch crashed down, furrowing temporarily through the drops.

Pale, watery blood running down her arm from where she had scraped it as she had thrown it out to break her fall. The noise of the rain and thunder was unbearable. Kitty hauled herself painfully upright and, buffeted here and there by the wind, battled her way through the tossing jungle, struggling on, dodging more falling branches until she had crashed through the last of the creepers and was struggling out of the green jungle and onto the brown, smashed tumble of the scar.

The beach was almost invisible through the curtain of rain and the hammering waves that were whipped up into tossing frenzy by the storm. Only the sturdy chunk that was the platform parted the rain, and it was here that the others, torn between the separate dangers of forest and beach, cowered, the littluns' whimpering swept away by the wind.

Kitty blundered across the beach towards the refuge. The water had sea-spray mixed in and the salt stung her eyes and her scrapes as she forged her way through the wind. Spitting water and pushing loops of soaked, brine-stiff hair out of her eyes, Kitty slumped into the lee of the platform, on the opposite side from the wind.

She had dropped down beside one of the littluns; he cried out wordlessly and clutched at her in unconscious imitation of how he had held another woman, so long ago. He might have been crying and his mouth was certainly moving, but the water running down his face made it hard to tell.

Kitty let him bury his face in her shirt. She ducked her head, eyes hurting from the rain and scoured by the wind that even the platform could not prevent. There was no respite from the waves; the wind brought them up to well over the tideline and scattered the churned-up foam over beach and children alike. Overhead, the stunted palm trees of the platform creaked and groaned, fighting the wind, and one gave up altogether. Its roots tore free from the thin, waterlogged soil and it toppled, over the edge of the platform, coming to rest with a crash on the sand. The children cried out and wormed their way as close to the dubious safety of the platform as possible.

Just as Kitty was truly beginning to choke from the amount of water that was filling her mouth and nose the storm was over as suddenly as it had begun. The rain went from an ubiquitous sheet to a fine drizzle, then a few drops, then nothing. The waves slowly retreated. The wind died. The ragged, grey wisps of cloud that had obscured the sky dissolved and the sun came out, bringing with it the heat of the day.

Slowly, the children crawled out of hiding. They were all soaked and most of them were nursing various cuts and bruises. The wails of the littluns went on for a while, then faltered, faded and died. Gradually, chatter began to start up again.

Kitty stood slowly. The beach had been stirred up into muddy water by the waves, and seaweed had been thrown up with them, so that a thick, briny smell hung in the air. The fringes of the jungle had suffered the most; the vegetation was broken and scattered and most of the trees on the platform had also succumbed. Worst of all, their painstakingly-built shelters had been reduced to a pile of scattered, broken sticks.

Piggy, overcome by the elements, lay down and wheezed on the sand, the conch clutched between chubby fingers. Simon, bending beside him, tried to sit him up against the platform. Kitty went over to them.

"Are you all right?"

Simon was visibly shaken, and a cut on his forehead matted blood into his fair hair. He nodded, still busy with Piggy.

"We were in the shelters. It was beastly hot and something was wrong. We all felt it. When the wind picked up Ralph got all of us out of the shelters before they collapsed. Wouldn't go himself before everyone was out. Jack and the hunters gave him a bit of trouble. Wouldn't move at first. Then when it began to rain they all scrambled out."

Simon's normally soft, shy voice now carried a note of derision. He rubbed Piggy's back in a vain attempt to make his breathing return to normal. Kitty squatted beside him, not sure what to do. Piggy's laboured breathing disturbed her, but she was not sure how to deal with it. It seemed an invasion to help the fat boy as Simon was now doing. That was his turf and she sat instead, and hugged her knees, regarding the blasted beach.

It didn't seem fair, this cavalier destroyal of all they had worked for by the storm. Kitty suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of tiredness. What was the use of it all, if they put their all into what they had tried to build, only to have it ruined by the first twist of nature that came along? They could hold as many assemblies as they liked, Ralph could blow the conch again and again, but - Kitty thought with guilty realisation at the blasphemy - after all, the conch was just a shell, a beautiful one, but just a shell. She could not understand the sway it held over them when it was blown, but she admitted to herself that she was prepared to take it as it was. After all, if she had not found the conch no one would have paid such respect to Ralph without it.

The choir had cadged the best space along the platform; there the rock made a natural alcove that they could press themselves into and be relatively sheltered from the storm. They were now less shocked than the others and were already running along the storm-swept beach, shouting to each other. Kitty scanned the moving figures, isolating boy after boy with fair hair. She frowned. The tall figure and pleasant features of Ralph were nowhere to be seen.

Roughly in her haste, Kitty snatched the conch from Piggy's unresisting hands and blew, a long, hard blast that echoed amid the silence of the aftermath. The figures on the beach turned, and, obedient to the sound, made their way over to the platform, so that soon there was a crowd of boys grouped around Kitty, Simon and Piggy. The hunters were standing together, and from what could be heard of their conversation, they were already discussing the storm as if it had been some sort of spectacular lark.

One of the litluns was still crying; his hiccups echoed into the expectant silence. Kitty, her fears confirmed by the conspicuous absence of their chief, found that her voice came out much louder than she wanted it to.

"Where's Ralph?"

There was murmuring and glances as the boys realised that Ralph was missing. Near the platform, Roger whispered something into Jack's ear and both boys laughed.

Kitty rounded on them.

"You laugh! But who was it who wouldn't come out of the shelters until it started raining? You and the other hunters! If you'd only listened to the chief and been sensible, we wouldn't be looking for him now! Can't you see? He was trying to get you all out!"

Guilty mutters from the hunters. Jack faced with the stark truth, strode into the middle of the circle and took the conch.

"All right, all right! So it was our fault. But now me and the hunters'll look for him, see? Us and everyone else too, then we'll find him soon."

The choir stopped their talk and straightened up, looking important. Jack motioned with the conch, shining translucent against the sun.

"What're you waiting for! Get going!"

The children scattered across the debris-strewn beach. Now that the terror of the storm was over, they had begun to feel more carefree, and the disappearance of Ralph held no worry for them, as they searched, or, in the case of the littluns, scattered to the orchard to partake of the fruit that had blown down. Jack was speaking to his hunters; directing them to search different areas of the beach. Kitty wandered towards the shelters, thinking to retrace Ralph's steps from when he had been chivvying the hunters out.

Simon reached the shelters before her; when he was a short distance away she saw him break out into a run, then he was alongside the forlorn pile of sticks and squatting down. Desperately, he glanced around for the others and, seeing Kitty, waved and shouted.

"Kitty! Over here! He's here, I've found him!"

Kitty began running herself; soon she was close enough to see a crumpled figure lying on its back amid the ruined shelters. Simon was hovering, not sure whether to move him, as the girl rushed up, panting.

Ralph was stunned or unconscious; his fair hair was soaked and caked with sand and there was a goose-egg swelling on his forehead that was already purpling. The sea had not dealt him mercy - Ralph's whole body was scratchy with brine, and there was a thin coating of salt across his face and lips. Kitty realised that as the shelter had collapsed, the falling trunks that they had used as part of the frame had crashed down on him, trapping his leg. He had not been able to work himself free, but had obviously tried; blood was flowing from the crushed leg and onto the sand. Without the possibility of venturing to the platform to shelter, Ralph had lain there through the storm, weathering the waves and wind.

Not speaking, both Simon and Kitty set to work to lever the tree limbs aside; it was heavy going and they had to pause frequently as the storm had drained them of their strength. At last, though, Ralph's leg came free and the blood rushed from an ugly, deep scrape on the shin. Kitty felt her stomach turn over. The wound was ragged and crusted with sand, and there was a livid, purple bruise around the cut. Kitty didn't like the look of Ralph's face; it was deathly pale, and pinched around the lips, and the blood had gathered in a knot under the bump on his forehead.

Kneeling down beside the boy, Kitty tore a piece from her dripping skirt and used it to gently clear most of the salt from Ralph's face and mouth. Feeling the moisture brushing his lips, Ralph moaned weakly and put out his tongue to lick the water away. His eyelids flickered.

Simon and Kitty noticed the signs of awakening; Simon took over the cloth while Kitty spoke to the prone figure.

"Ralph, Ralph, it's us. Can you hear me? The storm's over, you're going to be all right, but you're chief, and we need an assembly. Wake up, Ralph! Wake up! You got to blow the conch now, they won't listen to me, d'you hear me, wake up!"

Ralph groaned again and stirred on the sand.

"That's right Ralph, wake up now, we need you!"

Simon had cleared away the worst of the brine and now he squatted back on his heels, his face intense. Ralph's eyes flickered again and suddenly he rolled onto his side, coming awake all at once. Supporting himself with his arms, his body twisted and he vomited, water gurgling onto the sand.

Kitty and Simon started forward together; they didn't quite like to touch Ralph and didn't know what to do, but Kitty put a hand onto his back as a comfort. Ralph retched again, this time throwing up most of the contents of his stomach, then the fit passed into a storm of coughing. Trembling, the boy clumsily wiped a hand across his mouth, then, finding the effort too much, collapsed back onto the sand.

Simon bent over him, concern stamped across his features.

"Ralph, are you all right?"

Ralph shook his head.

"Leg... hurts."

"Let me have a look at it. Kitty, raise his head."

Simon scooted around on his hands and knees to Ralph's side. Kitty gently pulled Ralph's head onto her lap, so that his head and shoulders were supported. She could feel him shaking violently as Simon touched the gash. A hiss of air escaped his lips. Kitty stroked Ralph's hair as one might with a little child.

The smaller boy lightly brushed the clinging sand away. Ralph, feeling the sting, twisted away from Simon's probing fingers with a suppressed cry, then steeled himself to continue. Simon gently felt on and around the cut. Finally, he straightened up. Ralph's blood had stained his hands crimson.

"It's not broken."

"Good -" Ralph began, then surrendered to another fit of coughing. His body bucked on the sand, and Kitty put her hands on his shoulders to hold him steady.

"But the cut's pretty deep, and there's all that sand in it - we need to clean you up as soon as possible or it'll get infected."

Ralph made an attempt to sit, but he was too fast and collapsed back again.

"Not - now...we need... assembly."

Kitty protested. "But Ralph -"

"Get me... the conch."

Simon rejoined as well.

"But -"

"Won't... let you touch it... till after the assembly."

He struggled to stand; the two other children were alongside to steady him. Slinging Ralph's arms over their shoulders, they moved off towards the platform. Even with care all they could manage was a hobble.

* * *

The other children noticed their form as the three made their way along the beach; soon there was a crowd surrounding them and running beside them as they reached the platform and propped Ralph up against it in a sitting position. 

Ralph grasped a nub of rock and tried to rise.

"Someone - help me... stand."

Maurice and Harold rushed over as Jack signed to them; gripping Ralph under his arms, they hauled him upright. Kitty could see Ralph biting his lips in pain and there was a faint flush of sweat standing out on his forehead. Gasping for breath, the boy slumped against the rock of the platform, leaning his whole weight against it in an effort to stay standing. Stepping forward, Kitty took the conch and placed it in Ralph's hands. The standing process had jarred Ralph's leg and he nearly dropped the conch as it was handed to him; but recovered himself in time and clutched the shell to his chest.

"Listen... all of you."

There was respectful silence.

"All right then. That was - a bad storm. So our shelters... they're all destroyed."

He continued, his voice becoming stronger as the pain abated from his lack of movement.

"And what about the fire? It must be out by now. So I'll say this. We need to rebuild our shelters. And we need to relight the fire."

A few people nodded. Ralph had a talent for setting things out in clear language so that everyone, even the littluns, could understand it, and this was partly why they had so much respect for him.

"All right. You all agree. So we need to get all this done as soon as possible. Now I'll make a rule, because I'm chief. There'll be no more hunting until the shelters are rebuilt and the fire's burning again."

Jack stormed into the circle; snatching the conch from Ralph with such force that he almost fell over. Facing the younger boy, Jack tried to shout him down.

"No more hunting! We still need meat, now more than ever, because most of the fruit's gone! And I bet the pigs'll be driven out of hiding by that storm. We should take the chance!"

In his capacity as chief, Ralph interrupted. The pain in his voice was back and there was a fresh trickle of blood running down his leg.

"I said no more...hunting. The fire - and the shelters are the most... important things. If you and the hunters... if we all work on them this time, we'll be done in a jiffy. You can hunt then."

Grumbling, Jack shoved the conch back at Ralph and retired to the outer rim of the circle. The fair boy held the delicate shell. Unhurt by the storm, the conch seemed to have some sort of mystical power.

"So... now we all go and work on the shelters. While the others are doing that, Jack and his hunters'll go up to the mountain to light the fire. It might take a time, the wood'll probably be wet. But -" Ralph looked Jack squarely in the face -" no hunting until I say so."

There was still some balm in holding sway over a group of people, Jack found, as he gestured to the hunters to follow him. Anyway, he could always look out for pigs on the mountain. And his hunters needed new spears.

Whistling, Jack strode off along the beach toward the jungle.

* * *

There was no lack of debris to choose from in the rebuilding of the shelters, so they had a fairly easy job of collecting the materials to do so. While Piggy took charge of the shelters for the moment, Simon and Kitty sat Ralph down against the pink platform and proceeded to minister to his leg. 

It was no easy task to even get near it; the leg was so painful that Ralph unconsciously resisted any attempt by the other two to touch it. Finally, though, Simon managed to get it stretched out straight on the sand. Turning to Kitty, he pointed across along the beach.

"Get a coco-nut shell. A half one if you can manage it. Fill it with seawater; I'm going to use it to clean the leg."

Eager to oblige, the girl made her way along the flat. Most of the coco-nuts that had been on the trees had been blown down by the storm, so there was no lack of them to choose from. After discarding many unbroken ones, Kitty found a coco-nut that had smashed against the platform and split jaggedly open. Milk, mingled with seawater, trickled out of it. Upending the coco-nut and emptying its contents on the sand, she washed it out in the sea and filled it in turn with salt water.

Simon had ripped a sizable piece out of his ragged shirt; he took the coco-nut Kitty proffered and immersed the rag into the water until it was thoroughly soaked. Squeezing the water out until it was a stage wetter than merely damp, the boy ground the base of the coco-nut into the wet sand until it was supported. Then he directed Kitty to kneel on Ralph's other side to hold him still.

Simon lowered the cloth.

"This is going to hurt."

As soon as the salt water touched the bleeding gash, Ralph jerked violently and stifled a cry. Unbidden, tears started to his eyes, spilling over as he squeezed his eyes shut. Kitty put a hand on his leg to steady him, but Ralph stilled his spasming muscles with an effort and slumped back onto the sand. Simon, gingerly, made another swab with the cloth, this time reaching deeper to get the sand that had wormed its way into the cut.

Ralph's cry was louder this time. A trickle of blood meandered down his chin from where he had bitten his lip.

Simon resoaked the now crimson cloth and swabbed again.

* * *

They propped palm trunks up against the platform to create a makeshift shelter for the littluns and Ralph that night. The weather had settled down again to the usual sweep from cool to hot and cool again across the course of the day and the sea had calmed. The biguns, led by Jack and the hunters after they had accomplished their trip up the mountain, journeyed along the rocks that ran along the perimeter of the island. There, in the pits and niches of the pink rock water had collected, bringing with it myriads of flopping fish. The excitement rose to fever pitch as the children scrambled among the scattered boulders and plunged their hands into the pools, clutching at fish only to have them slip away at the last moment, leaving their hands gritty with scales. Some, too slow or hampered by the constrained puddles, were caught, however, and left to gasp their lives out on the shore. 

A fire was made on the beach that evening, authorised by Ralph; they could not figure out how to cook the fish while the fire was burning, so they waited until it was a mass of glowing embers and then buried the fish under it. The fish came out a bit charred on the outside but under the skin and over the entrails was steaming meat and the children burnt their fingers trying to peel it away. Their faces were half-lit by the orange glow and the sparks flew as the remnants of wood crashed into the soft ashes.

Ralph had stayed in the one new shelter since late afternoon; he had not been able to participate in the rebuilding and needed rest. Now Jack, generous from the success of the fishing, dispatched Robert to the shelter with fish and a coco-nut shell of water. Robert, reluctant to leave the fire and go off into the night but not daring to disobey, lingered at the edge of the light until noticed and waved away.

He came back in a rush, fish discarded and water shining on his chest from where he had spilt the coco-nut shell.

"Something's wrong with Ralph - he's lying on his side and he's burning up, I swear, and he's talking too, saying things that don't make any sense! Come on, come quickly, I don't know what to do!"

There was a scatter from around the fire of those biguns who felt responsible enough to go into the dark and make for the distant shelter. Most of the littluns stayed, fish dangling from their hands as they stared, frightened. Then it was forgotten and the eating began again.

Kitty had risen with the others; the waves slopped over her feet as she ventured too close to the tideline, half-crying out as the cold seeped unexpectedly into her shoes. She twisted in fear as they left the light and heat of the fire behind, making for the hulking form of the platform that stood out, blacker against the black of night.

Thankfully, it was not too far away and the children crashed into the lee of the rock as one mass. It took a while to find the opening to the makeshift shelter but it was found finally; then someone remembered that despite their fear of the dark no one had had the wit to bring a burning branch from the fire. A shadow spoke with Jack's voice and ordered Samneric to brave the night and get one. The twins, two shadows that merged into a single one, then flowed and separated so that the eye was confused and fuddled, went without complaint. The fire was burning like a beacon on the darkened beach.

By the uncertain, flickering light of the torch that Jack held they crowded into the shelter until Simon made a surprising ruling against too many going in at once; the others who had not been admitted muttered fearfully as they huddled together against the platform.

Kitty, Simon and Jack were foremost in the crowd: uncertainly, they squatted in the dim orange light.

Ralph was lying on his side; every so often he would toss and jerk so that sand flew and further encrusted his wound, which had reopened and was trickling sluggishly onto the ground. Even at a distance they could see the sweat standing out on his face and the unhealthy flush. His eyes were closed, the sun-bleached lashes standing out very white on his skin.

"He's delirious."

Simon's quiet statement seemed to give the situation weight.

"What are we going to do?" Kitty sounded panicked and she knew it; beside her she felt Jack draw away slightly.

"His leg must've got infected. Jack, go down to the sea and fill this coco-nut shell with water. Kitty, help me to get him to lie still."

Jack's eyes widened at Simon's temerity in ordering him around, but he departed, and with him the light. It was touch and go in the darkness as Simon and Kitty felt around for Ralph and gently held him down until his tossing subsided and he lay relatively still. The shelter was full of heat and sweat.

Jack returned with the torch and the coco-nut shell Robert had dropped, filled with water. Simon had been forced to discard the cloth he had used earlier to clean Ralph's leg, so now Jack helped him to tear another piece out of his shirt that was now more rags than cloth. As the wet cloth again touched the gash, Ralph quavered and spoke.

"Mother! Where are you? Why aren't you here... I want you!"

His voice started up to imperiousness before it trembled and sank back to an incoherent whisper. Jack, lit by his proximity to the torch, had a strange expression on his face - contempt or longing, it was hard to tell.

* * *

During the course of the long, exhausting night, Kitty had stayed awake and done all Simon told her to ease Ralph's pain. Finally, they had gotten him to drop off and, unable to resist, had gone to sleep themselves. When they had woken, Jack, who had stayed in the shelter, unmoving, not speaking, was gone and the light was coming almost to the perpendicular. Ralph, exhausted, was sleeping peacefully except for the occasional mutter or cry. His fever had not gone down, or such a miniscule amount it was impossible to make out. 

Simon was breathing lightly. Kitty, coming awake with a start, regarded Ralph with hopelessness. There had been nothing in all the lessons at school to tell them how to deal with something like this; that quiet schoolroom seemed an eternity away. Simon seemed to have an instinctive ability for nursing, but as for her, she moved unhandily around Ralph as though he was fragile and likely to break.

Sighing, Kitty picked up the coco-nut shell on her way out of the shelter, thinking that she might as well fill it at the stream to give Ralph a drink when he woke. Outside, most of the others had not yet awoken, lying huddled on the sand in bunches, exhausted by the day before. A few littluns had already woken and were mewling with cold and hunger, but she ignored them, making straight for the stream that fed from the pool with the waterfall.

Bending down, Kitty splashed her face with water from the stream, the icy cold shocking her system. Then she dipped the coco-nut shell into the water and was just about to leave when there was a noise from not far away and she whirled around and saw that it was Jack. The inscrutable expression from the day before had left his face but there was a trace of the glare in his eyes.

"How is Ralph?"

The words rippled the silence like pebbles thrown into a pool; all Kitty's desperation and hopelessness poured out in a torrent.

"He's still burning up and he's asleep at least, but he'll be delirious when he wakes up I bet, and I'm so worried for him, I'm not sure when he'll get better, or even if he'll -"

She fell silent. Jack made no effort to come closer, but ignored her outburst and carried on as if he hadn't heard.

"So he won't be able to be chief for a while?"

Kitty, distracted, nodded. Something akin to a curtain swept across Jack's blue eyes and the madness was revealed from behind it, as if it had been there all along. The girl noticed nothing, however, brushing a hand across her face to curb the tears.

"So if he can't be chief -"

Jack left his statement unfinished, instead he leaned forward a bit, intensely, seeming to be on the verge of speaking but waiting for it, waiting -

Kitty sadly regarded her face, pinched and drawn, in the coco-nut shell.

"Well, I suppose someone'll have to take over."

Jack seemed to be assessing the air currents, the hunt, the scent of his prey.

"Yes, I suppose so."

Kitty's brain was fuddled from lack of sleep; the jungle and the pool seemed blurred as she processed the issue through her inadequate mind.

"I suppose the only person who'll be able to do that is you, Jack."

* * *

**Ooh, evil cliffie! Well, tune in to find out what happens next!**

**P.S I just want to say a big SORRY to all those who have been waiting so long for this chapter, I'll try to get them up more quickly in future. But since I'm really bogged down with tests, exams, PROGRESS REPORTS etc., I may have to study rather than fanfic some days. (sobs)**

**P.P.S Tomorrow's the squash competition!!!!! I have to go ALL THE WAY TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY to get to the court. Roar. But that doesn't alter the fact that I AM SEEDED!!!!!!! I cannot believe it! Especially since this is the national under-15 squash tournament. :) Wish Kitty luck!**


	7. Chapter 6 Painted Faces and Long Hair

**Chapter 6**

**Painted Faces and Long Hair**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies. Cause if I did, I'd own Piggy. And no one wants to own Piggy. (No offence to those few and far between Piggy fans)**

**A/N: It's official. Aerona is terribly stressed. Hey, come on! O Levels next year, right? But the teachers are acting like they're next week or something. AAARGH!!!!!!! The more immediate stress is squash nationals. Oh no oh no...**

* * *

Jack was running. He had left Kitty at the stream, and he pounded through the forest towards the shelters, the green shadows of a new day flashing across his bare back.

So he was chief now, was he? Well, he'd soon put some things straight, things that Ralph had been too frightened or too weak to do himself. Jack grinned. Somehow he'd been hesitant about taking the leadership before securing the vote of Kitty, the founder of the conch. All that was over now. The conch was his, for a little while at least, and he would leech all that he could out of the delicate spiral before he had to step down.

As Jack ran, the rhythm of his feet directed his thoughts. Then again, he thought, will I have to step down? If the others see how bad Ralph is as chief against me, will they want him back? If it comes to the worst, we could vote again. The choir'll side me, I know they will, and some of the others. Except that, in the choir, Simon'll definitely side Ralph. So will Kitty.

Somehow, obscurely, Jack felt that Kitty's vote would carry weight. Well, we'll see about that, he thought, as he burst through the bushes and stumbled, panting but triumphant, onto the beach. The others were just beginning to wake up and the beach was scattered with sleepy, yawning forms. Striding over to the shelter that housed Ralph, Jack picked the conch up from the sand and, propping his spear against the sun-drenched pink of the platform, put his mouth to the small hole at the very point of the shell.

He had watched Ralph blow the conch umpteen times; but Jack found that there was a world of difference from watching it done and doing it himself. His breath was coming in short gasps and this impeded his progress, but finally his first, soundless efforts gave way to a strident blast that roused all those sleeping or hovering between sleep and wakefulness; Simon's tousled head and upper body appeared from inside the shelter. When he saw who was blowing the conch his sleepy expression changed, and he crawled, frowning, out of the shelter.

"Jack? What's going on? You'll wake Ralph -"

Jack ignored him. Now that he had mastered the conch he gained a fierce pleasure from the noise he was creating; also from seeing the other children coming across the beach towards him, gathering obediently around the conch. The choir, roused from their slumber, crowded around their leader like a guard of honour.

Piggy had stumbled up from his place on the sand. Wiping his glasses on the tail of his grubby shirt, he jammed them onto his nose and regarded Jack squarely through the scratched lenses.

"What're you blowing the conch for? We don't need no assembly now!"

Jack took the conch away from his lips, red-faced from exertion but grinning, triumphant.

"Shut up, Fatty! I'm chief now, see? And I'm calling an assembly!"

Piggy's mouth opened and closed in righteous recrimination. Colour rushed to his cheeks. Jack, secure in the conch and the prescence of his hunters, paid him no more attention.

There was muttering among the boys as they drew closer to the platform, and surreptitious glances at Simon as he stood, immobile and silent, by the shelter. The sunrise was like a spill of blood on the sky. Jack hefted the conch, drawing confidence from the embossed whorls of the shell. Simon's silence and pinched, white face disconcerted him.

A rustle in the last reaches of the jungle took on form as a dark-haired shadow that was Kitty detached herself from the last clinging creepers and came across the beach towards them. Like Simon, her face was pale under the tan and she kept her head low, looking at her shoes as they scuffed the white, fine sand. Her raggedly-cut hair fell over her face, marking it in shadow. Jack clutched the conch closer. His knuckes whitened on the translucency of the shell.

Kitty crossed over to the shelter and stood beside Simon. The younger boy was stirred out of his immobility and turned his head, lips moving in an indecipherable question. Kitty did not look at Simon, rather down and a bit to the side, as she answered in one or two words. At her reply, Simon was startled out of his composure; outrage and something very like fear distorted his features and his voice rose out of the softness as a meaningless mumble that Jack, listening through the mixed mutters of the others, could not interpret. Kitty's expression did not change greatly; a close observer could have noticed a slight tremble about the mouth and an excess of blinking, but that was all. She deliberately turned away from Simon, instead fixing her eyes on Jack, waiting for him to speak.

Jack blew one last, strident blast on the conch, making most of the assembly jump. The boy noticed that Kitty hadn't been startled with the others; instead she stood as still as Simon had been, dark eyes still regarding his face, her own drawn. Simon had moved to put some distance between him and Kitty; now Piggy on her other side leaned over to speak to Simon. When he received an answer, he too edged away, so that there was a clear space of sand around the girl.

With irritation and a vague disquiet, Jack turned back to the others.

"All right - listen. You all know what's wrong with Ralph, don't you? Well, the way I see it, we need a new chief. Not for always," he added hastily as the mutters peaked. "Just until Ralph's all right again. We need that, don't we? A chief?" Jack stopped, acutely aware that he was talking in circles and that last statement had sounded painfully like a plea.

Roger, seeing his leader's discomfort, stepped up and laid a hand on the conch, yet not quite taking it out of Jack's arms.

" I say that we need a chief. Jack's right; Ralph can't be chief like that. He's sick, he's not even awake most of the time! How's he going to be chief then?"

Everyone was shocked by the normally taciturn Roger's speech. Jack, sensing the support, regained his confidence.

"That's what I said. It's decided then, I'm chief. I didn't tell you before, but this was Kitty's idea."

Everyone turned to stare at the girl, who tilted her chin defiantly, not meeting anyone's eyes but Jack's. With her scrutiny the boy's uneasiness returned; quickly, he directed the children's attention back to the conch.

"So I'm chief. And now we're going to do things differently. Now we're not going to have everyone taking turns at the fire. Samneric, you two'll be up there all the time."

The twins detached themselves from the mass and began to protest. With their vocalisation the rest of the children surged around Jack and Roger, giving voice.

Jack had to shout over the noise.

"Shut up, _shut up _all of you! Samneric, you haven't got the conch! Listen to me! I say that both of you'll be up there by the fire all the time, because me and the others'll all be hunting. And that's another thing. I've said it before; I'm going to say it again. We need meat - now more than ever, because the fruit's all fallen from the trees and it'll be all rotten by now. So apart from Samneric up by the fire, all the others will be hunting. We're going to have a thin time of things anyway, with not much fruit. We need meat before some of you littluns eat the wrong thing and end up like Ralph."

Simon jerked at the mention of their erstwhile chief. Stepping forward into the centre of the ring, he stretched a hand out for the conch. Jack did not relinquish it, however, and Simon's hand fell back to his side.

"What about the shelters?" The fair boy's voice was just on the safe side of accusative. "We need them too, you know. How're we going to help Ralph if he hasn't even got a proper shelter to live in?"

Jack scowled. "You haven't got the conch, Simon, so shut up. I was just going to say - anyone who wants to stay and build the shelters can. The rest of us will hunt. We'll take a vote now. Who's for hunting?"

The hands of the choir shot up immediately; as did most of the other boys. Samneric, looking disgruntled, slouched at one side of the circle.

Jack counted.

"All right then, we'll hunt. Now, who's going to stay?"

Simon and Piggy raised their hands. Kitty, in the breath of silence after the vote was noticed, raised her arm slowly into the air. The ranks were very silent.

Those who were near Jack heard a breath being let out, almost inaudibly. He looked up from the conch and squared his shoulders as he faced the assembly.

"All right then. I'm chief now, just till Ralph gets better. The choir're the hunters, but the others can hunt as well. Roger's my second-in-command. You've got to listen to him as well as me."

The dark boy stirred as Jack spoke; and looked up. He had not been burnt noticeably, because of his swarthiness, but in stages, so one was shocked at the change in skin tone if his first day-self was used as standard. Roger's black hair had grown longer, and swept even lower over his eyes so that he had to brush it back now and again. The choir cap was still there, and pulled down over his forehead as of old, but now Roger, like Jack, went barechested, wearing nothing but a pair of tattered shorts, cloak forgotten.

Jack continued; tremulously, but his voice grew stronger as he felt them hanging on to his every word.

"Now that's decided, we'll hunt right away. Hunters - all our spears're scattered around - we need new ones. So now, all of you go off into the jungle, comb the beach, anything, but get some good branches, all right? Then bring them back to me to sharpen. Samneric, you two go straight up to the mountain and get the fire going. Take Piggy's specs with you; you may have to wait a while, the wood'll be wet. I want to see the smoke by this evening."

The children scattered; chattering excitedly. The storm had passed, the sun was shining again. Those who felt hunger pangs went into the smashed fringes of the jungle, picking what they could from the mass of pulped fruit that carpeted the ground. The flies had also found them; and a black buzzing cloud surrounded the sweet mess, falling; settling, lifting. Finding the runnels of the children's sweat a succulent addition to their diet they alighted, stinging until the children slapped and scratched in vain. The remainder of the fruit that had been too unripe to fall stayed in the high branches, and all their combined efforts were not enough to bring them down. The biguns were hesitant about eating the overripe, sticky mess, black with flies, but there was nothing else, and the littluns had no such compunctions. Soon several of them began to complain of stomach aches, toddling off into the dripping forest to do their business.

After Jack had dismissed the meeting Kitty and Simon crossed the beach towards the only standing shelter together, not out of companionship but out of a conviction that they had nothing else to do. Both children ignored each other, looking at the sand.

Simon gathered his wits; turning to the passive, expressionless Kitty beside him. What passed his lips was not the comfort he wanted, but accusation.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Kitty's face twisted; she almost lashed out at the younger boy, instead keeping her fists clenched by her sides, digging her bitten nails into the palms. Her voice came out almost a sob.

"Simon, you tell me, what else could I do? Ralph's sick, we're all in a mess, who else was fit to take over? Maybe you wouldn't have chosen Jack, but - what else could I have done?"

Simon looked away from her. Turning his head towards the calm sea, he whispered, " You could have been chief yourself."

Kitty gave no sign that she had heard.

* * *

Ralph was no better when they reached the shelter. He was still sleeping peacefully, but the sweat was pouring off him and when Simon put a hand on his forehead the heat made him draw back. By now, a tacit agreement had grown up around Simon and Kitty to mention nothing of the day's events. They were ignoring each other, not acknowleging the other's presence, but their eyes kept flicking to the other's face. 

They went through the motions of forcing a little water through Ralph's parched lips, then cleaning him up a bit. Ralph slept on, not waking even when the salt water seeped into his wound, by now beginning to scab over the crusty sand. Kitty hung around the shelter, restlessly moving here and there; finally she could not stand the sight of Ralph's white, still face and the quiet, gentle figure of Simon as he bent over the prone boy. Scattering sand as she moved fast, before she could change her mind and stay, Kitty scrambled out of the entrance to the shelter.

The beach was almost deserted; the hunters were off collecting spears and what was left of them were gathered into a tight knot around Jack and Roger on the sand. Samneric were off up to the mountain, and Piggy, torn between making the trek and being divested from his glasses for an indeterminate period, had joined them. The littluns were playing in the debris by the water's edge.

Kitty wandered across the shore and gradually became aware of the fact that her stomach was empty and was aching with hunger. Deviating from her meandering course, she set off to the orchard and the fruit trees.

Fruit that had been blown down carpeted the ground; she could see the marks where the other children had rooted around in the yellow pulp. Small animals had gathered around the carpet to eat; and at Kitty's arrival scuttered into the deep recesses of the jungle.

Feeling the weight of her stiff, dirty clothes and the useless tangle of hair, the girl knelt on the muddy ground and regarded the unappetising mass. The black cloud of flies rose with her movement; buzzing angrily, then settled impartially onto Kitty and the mashed fruit. The girl brushed them away impatiently, only to have them settle the moment she stopped. Finally, she gave up, steeled herself, scooped up a chunk of filthy fruit, wiped as much of the clinging mud away as she could, and gingerly took a bite.

The mouthful was slimy and over-sweet, with an underlying rotten taste. Kitty crushed it with her tongue quickly and forced herself to swallow the juices that ran down her throat, not thinking about what else she might be swallowing. She chewed the fibrous pulp until it was soft enough to choke down, then, before she could change her mind, she grabbed another chunk and made it follow the way of the first.

Her throat rebelled and nearly threw up the slick morsel, but Kitty swallowed fast and hard and soon the rotten fruit was gone. The exertion after the night of tribulations left her feeling light-headed and exhausted: reeling, she leaned her weight against a tree trunk. The black flies erupted for a moment around her and then settled back down to their relentless buzzing.

Grimacing at the claggy fruit covering her skirt and knees, Kitty got to her feet. There was a dribble of juice running down from one corner of her mouth and she brushed it away, dully. Then she walked off into the forest, away from the deserted, forlorn orchard where the stinging flies whirred in concerted motion, settling over everything like a black snowfall.

The forest was awash with the cries of small animals as they came out of hiding from the rain; Kitty's presence scared them so that they scattered into the crevices of the jungle with barely a movement to show that they ever had been. The girl's original plan had been to make her way to the mat and sit there awhile, trying to sort out her tangled skein of thoughts, but numbness was stealing up her limbs from the exhaustion, so Kitty paused.

She had broken out into a clearing, one of the few empty spaces of the jungle. Normally, the glade, cupped slightly like a bowl with the dip of the mountain, would be a bath of heat, perforated by slanting rays of light: but now in the aftermath of the storm the bowl was half-filled with brackish water over which midges danced. The sun, peering through the canopy, dashed itself to pieces on the surface of the pool. Overhead, a great commotion in the branches made Kitty look up.

A troupe of monkeys, gross silhouettes with spindly, spider-like limbs, was dotted among the treetops. As Kitty watched, the black shapes capered so that they shook the branches and water came pattering down. Their screeching filled the silent forest; cut like a hot knife through the soft, steady humming of the midges.

Kitty shook her head, sending the filthy hair flying. The howling was piercing right through to her brain. She had a headache coming on. Overhead, the monkeys were engaging in a tussle, sending leaves and twigs down to ripple her reflection.

She sat, hugging her knees, at the side of the pool. Aimlessly, she plucked a blade of grass and held it up to the light, contemplating the light shining through the green. Scared by the monkeys, a bird, plumage flashing red, burst through the canopy, fluting its high, eerie cry.

As if triggered by the appearance of the bird, an excruciating claw of pain sliced through Kitty's stomach, making her gasp and double over. The rotten fruit was exerting its influence on her body, and the girl rolled over to a kneeling position, arms wrapped firmly around her stomach as the waves of pain broke over her. She found that she was crying, salt drops oozing from under her eyelids as the hot stab came and passed and came again.

Twisting her body, she turned away from the pool and retched, throwing up a mess of yellow fruit and the remnants of the fish she had had the previous evening. She vomited until only a thin, sour bile trickled out onto the ground, and even then the pain did not stop.

Sobbing now, her breathing coming in fits, Kitty knelt by the edge of the pool.

* * *

After Roger had broken down a suitable branch he ventured back to the beach where Jack was. When the choir leader saw him, he impatiently motioned the other hunters who were crowding around him aside. They parted to let Roger through. 

The dark boy regarded Jack inscrutably. The tall boy's red hair was plastered down with sweat, and he was smiling, widely. The conch lay on the sand beside him, and Roger did not miss the other boys' respectful glances at the shell.

Jack was eager, beckoning Roger forward, holding out a hand for the branch. Roger sat by his side as the chief began to hack at it. Idly, he trailed a finger over the whorls of the conch.

"Where're Kitty and Simon?"

Jack frowned.

"Simon's in the shelter – there. Looking after Ralph. I don't know where Kitty is."

Roger cupped his hand and funnelled it, watching the sand he had picked up flow back down to the beach.

"Saw her diving into the jungle earlier. Wonder where she is now."

Jack gestured impatiently.

"Who cares? We've got more important things to think about."

He viciously hacked off a chunk of wood.

"Hunting."

Roger looked up through his fringe.

"What about it?"

Jack stopped shaping the spear-point, waving the shaft to make his point.

"I've been thinking. You know when I've tried hunting before it never worked, right? Now I know why. Those pigs, they can see me. I don't think they smell me, just catch a glimpse of me or one of the other hunters. Then they all run."

Roger nodded.

"Well, I've remembered. You know the Army, or Red Indians – they paint their faces so that no one can see them coming. Why shouldn't we do the same? There's plenty of red clay here, and I bet we could find fruit that'd give us some other colours. If we do that the pigs'ud not be able to see us. Then we'd catch one."

The hunters, standing in a rough circle around them, stirred as if in a breeze. Jack's notion excited them. Roger said nothing but sat, working through this idea. Finally, urged by the stares at him and the palpable tension, he spoke.

"That's a good idea."

The hunters relaxed, and Jack's smile widened. Taking special care with Roger's spear, he finished off the point and handed it to his second-in-command.

"There's a bit here –"

Roger held his hand out for Jack's sheath-knife and the older boy handed it to him with only a slight hesitation. Bending his head under the eyes of the others, Roger began to neaten up his spear. Jack waited for him to finish and then stretched out an arm to take it back, simultaneously accepting another branch from Robert to shape. He still had hold of his bright idea.

"So after we're done with the spears we'll go and find clay and stuff to paint our faces with. Then we'll go hunting." He grinned round at the assembly. "My first hunt as Chief. This time we'll get a pig."

There was applause and a few cheers. Roger got to his feet, leaning on his new spear. Saying nothing, his mind working furiously, he walked away along the beach.

The littluns were restructuring their rhythms of play along the tideline as Roger came up; in the midst of rebuilding their sandcastles they paused and regarded him. Roger stopped some distance away from them, watching, absent-mindedly digging a hole in the sand with his spear.

Two littluns, Frederick and Rowland, were squatting down by the edge of the water, and Roger was attracted by their air of deep absorption and the small, squirming live thing that was commanding their attention. Craning his neck, Roger saw that they had a frog, a small, green one, tightly tied by a string around its neck leading back to Rowland's clutching fingers. Mad with fear, the frog strained the leash to its maximum, hopping futilely towards the clear sand beyond where the two boys knelt. Laughing, the littluns created runnels and mounds for it to hop through and over, prodding it with a stick of driftwood they had torn from another sand structure. Frenzied, the frog jumped higher than Roger thought was possible, upwards to the full extent of its string, landing on Frederick's shoulder. The two boys shouted with laughter. Feeling the unfamiliar material of rough, salt-stiffened cloth under its webbed feet sent it even more frantic; it skidded down the littlun's chest and back to the sand, where it was again prodded through the maze.

Roger considered this scene. Absently, he tested his spear-point on the ball of his thumb. Then he made his way forward, straight through the sandcastles. A few more littluns who had been playing in that particular area of sand set up a wail for their ruined game; but Roger paid them no attention, kicking his way through the sand, scattering all the mounds and shells used for embellishment.

He stopped a couple of feet away from Frederick and Rowland, a dark shadow on the bright sand, and waited for them to notice him.

The two littluns saw Roger only after his shadow, moving with the sudden progress of the sun from its noon height, cast across their maze. Then they looked up. Roger, staring down at their game dispassionately from his height, leaned on his spear again contemplatively.

The little frog croaked with the strength of hysteria at this new apparition towering over him, trying anew to snap the cord that held it captive. Rowland laughed again, absentmindedly, and tightened his grip on the string. A sudden jerk by the terrified frog almost tore it out of his grasp, and he shortened the string so his hand was just behind the frog's neck, and the leash was so tight as to almost throttle it.

Roger stared down at the two and something stole behind his eyes that had not been there before. Again, he tested his thumb on the spear, but he applied too much force and the crude point drove into his thumb, sending a drop of crimson blood meandering down his wrist. The boy did not look surprised, instead watched the blood as it flowed down to drip on the sand.

The littluns were watching him, wide-eyed. Roger seemed to notice them anew, eyes wandering to the frog which was hopping frenziedly on the end of the leash. He brought the spear up to bear.

His aim was good - the roughly-hewn spear pinned the frog to the wet, caked sand with one thrust, an inch away from Rowland's fingers. The droplet of Roger's blood that had been running down the spear shaft flowed down to near the end, mingling with the sticky dark blood of the frog. Both littluns looked at Roger for a second, incredulous, then started wailing.

Roger shook the carcass of the frog off his spear. Soon he was but a diminishing figure going off along the tideline.

* * *

Kitty's convulsions passed off into mind-numbing exhaustion that had her crouched by the pool, unable to move. Her mouth felt coated with a sticky layer of sour bile that wouldn't move no matter how hard she swallowed. The mosquitoes had found her and latched on, drinking their fill and leaving her with itchy red welts as they departed. 

The girl slowly uncurled herself from her kneeling position, cramped muscles protesting. The mosquitoes refused to move even with this upheaval, so Kitty brushed her palms down her arms, wincing as the weals stung.

She felt a sense of lingering sickness looking at the clearing and the pool that she had defliled; the flies that had followed her from the orchard had deserted her for the vomit that puddled on the ground. Standing up, her legs wobbled and she almost fell, so that she half-squatted again, pressing a palm to the grass to regain her balance. Her head was spinning and she swallowed again, to no avail.

Hobbling a bit from the stiffness in her muscles, Kitty walked slowly away from the clearing, shoving the tangle of creepers aside as she went. The pain in her stomach had subsided to a queasy ache that was nevertheless uncomfortable. Once again, the girl noticed how matted her hair had become; wound around a leaf here or a twig there, caked with sand from the beach, and how it continued to flop into her eyes even after the haircut. Ineffectually, she tried to finger-comb the dirt out of it, but only succeeded in pulling out several dark strands and giving herself a thumping headache to add to the other pains.

She made her way out of the deep jungle to the pool, and sat again. She had thought of getting a drink but succumbed to the lethargy stealing up her limbs, slumping against a tree trunk, a fantastic tree that grew dish-sized, brilliant flowers and plump fruit side by side. The heady scent floated down from the branches and made her even more sleepy. She felt her eyes closing, but as they did there was a stab of pain piercing her side that let her know that the fruit wasn't gone. Kitty groaned and clasped her arms around her stomach.

A faint brush, almost a breeze, wisped across her skin as a movement beside her became apparent. Kitty looked sideways through her hair. Simon was making himself comfortable among the buttress roots.

"Here." The smaller boy held out a coco-nut shell, brimming with water. Stiffly, Kitty uncurled herself and took the shell. Her hands trembled and she slopped some of it down her front, but with Simon's fingers resting lightly on the fibrous coco-nut she managed to get it to her lips and gulp some of the water. The coolness trickled down her throat, mixed with the lingering sourness of bile. Grimacing, the girl took another gulp and washed it around the inside of her mouth, turning her head to spit it out, away from where she and Simon were sitting.

Simon smiled, hesitantly. Though he would never say it, this was the closest he would come to an apology. He knew, as well, that Kitty would never come as close as he was coming now.

* * *

Once Jack had turned his idea over in his head once or twice, he liked the sound of it so much that he started off on it without Roger. Speaking hurriedly, excitedly; he dispatched Harold and Rupert to get samples of red and black earth. He was working himself up over how to procure white when Charles spoke up and offered to get a fruit whose milky juice was ideal as paint. Jack came out of his irritation immediately and ordered him to go and bring some, as much as possible. 

When the three had gone off into the jungle, the boys milled around for a bit, bored, making sideways glances at their Chief, who was sitting cross-legged on the sand, chin propped up on hand. He looked deep in thought and no one quite liked to make a comment that might startle him out of it.

Their attention was riveted by the arrival of Roger, coming across the beach with the sun behind him so he was nothing more than a formless shadow in the bright air. He strode easily into their midst, using his spear as a walking-stick. Everyone recoiled a little at the sticky red coating it, but Jack was unconcerned. The arrival of his second-in-command jerked him out of the state of pondering that he had immersed himself in, and he became immediately more jovial, patting the sand beside him in invitation. Roger sat.

"We're going to try it out." Jack's voice betrayed his excitement.

Roger propped his arms on his knees, black hair falling over his face.

"What's that?"

"Painting, I mean. I've sent some of the hunters off to get earth, and fruit. After they've come back we'll get started."

"Oh." If Roger felt any anticipation, he did not show it. "Good."

There was a stir in the ranks as the three hunters emerged from the fringes of the jungle. Each of them was holding something in a coco-nut shell; apart from Charles, who carried an oval fruit in each hand.

Jack jumped half-up from the sand; then remembered his dignity and sat back down, signing to the boys to bring their findings forward. They did, setting the coco-nut shells and fruit on the sand. Roger reached out a languid finger to stroke the fruit curiously.

"Interesting."

Jack grabbed the fruit the other boy was examining and ripped it in two, grinning at the white juice that came trickling out. Transferring both pieces of fruit to one hand, he used the pale liquid trickling down his other to dab his face. The white paint stayed on, obscuring freckled, sunburnt skin.

Jack swiped his hand across a cheek and dabbed his fingers back into the fruit.

"Perfect."

* * *

**Yay. 7 down... 7? or 8? to go. Be patient with me, people. And I'm sorry for the filler-ish chapter, but it demonstrates IMPORTANT aspects of Roger's character (n.b that he's a sadist) and the relationship between Jack and Roger, and also Kitty and Simon.**

**For all Ralph fans I apologise for his non-appearance.**

**Part of this chapter was written at a train station while I was waiting for my friend to come so we could GET GOING to our squash match. (The bit about monkeys.)**

**And I have finally got a account! Yayness! I'm KyrieEleison on there... So the site has to be thanked, cause I have gotten some serious inspiration for fanfic through my Lord of the Flies playlist.**

**And finally... Next chapter look forward to Ralph appearance again! And also minimal Roger (sorry Roger fans), but it's interesting, I think. I'm quite proud of it, and it's nearly done! Squee! **


	8. Chapter 7 Sunset

**Chapter 7**

**Sunset**

**Disclaimer: I own Kitty only... But since Simon is her good friend and Ralph too, I own them by proxy :p ... But not really.**

Once Jack had finished blocking out his face in white, he reached for the coco-nut shell of black, taking a great splodge of the stuff onto his fingers. He tried to smear it onto his face over the white, but only succeeded in smudging the still-wet paint and creating a mess of grey over one cheekbone.The results were not what he had desired, and with an impatient noise he rubbed the paint from his face with a bare arm. There was still a white, caked residue on his skin and he looked around, helpless, for something to help him remove it.

On the sand watching the proceedings, Roger stirred and spoke up.

"Maurice - go and get a coco-nut shell full of water."

Maurice went with alacrity. Jack, sitting on the sand, shook the paint from his fingers and waited with barely-concealed restlessness. Looking for something to do he grasped his spear again and drew his knife, viciously hacking off more flakes of wood from the already-perfect point.

The choir shifted and murmured on the sand as Maurice returned at a run, water slopping now and again from the coco-nut shell he held. Jack half-rose from the beach and then, remembering his dignity, signalled to Roger. The dark boy got up himself and received the shell with both hands, placing it in front of Jack. Jack dipped his hand into the shell and came up with a pool of water cupped in the palm, which he splashed on his face. The paint came off in a dripping mess.

Taking more care this time, Jack took some white paint and smeared it onto his face, leaving gaps at random where pink skin showed through in uneven patches. The hunters watched intently as he finished with the white and wiped it off on his filthy shorts, leaving behind a disconcerting half-mask through which two light blue eyes stared.

The red was next to go on; Jack smeared it over some of the bare patches he had left. His approximation of where the patches were was not as desired so some of the red paint smudged into the other colour, creating places with an uncertain pink hue. The chief's movements were becoming faster; more sure, and all close to him could see the strange excitement in his eyes and the heightened speed of his breathing. He discarded the red; throwing the coco-nut shell down so carelessly it thumped onto the sand and the red spilled onto the beach, a splash of bright crimson soaking through the fine grains.

Jack snatched up the coco-nut shell of black and applied it hastily to the random patches he had left; then he set it down and cleaned off his hands on his shorts. Leaping upright, he surveyed his hunters.

They in turn shrank back; Jack had not only covered his face in paint, he, not being satisfied with his mask, had extended the paint down to his chest, which was covered in irregular patches of red and black and white. His face was obscured by the same random application of paint; the colours had melted into each other and formed unreal shades close to many other colours but not exactly any of them. His eyes were startlingly blue from behind the mask.

Jack grabbed his spear and hefted it high, above his head. An ululation that was wild and painful at the same time escaped his lips.

The hunters were following their Chief's example and hastily scooping what was left of the paint out of the coco-nut shells and smearing it over their faces. The Chief waited, impatiently, jabbing the spear-point into the sand.

After a time they were all done. Roger had taken more care with his paint than the Chief, so he had a fairly geometric pattern of black and red obscuring his features. He, too, siezed his spear and stood by the Chief's side, waiting for the others, who stopped fairly quickly once they saw that Roger was done.

Jack cleared his throat. Normally he would have had some self-consciousness in speaking in front of a crowd like this, but the paint had liberated him from even the smallest particle of discomfort. He found the words coming easily and quickly, with none of the embarrassment usually invited when one spoke publicly.

"All right, hunters! Now we're done with this paint we'll go and hunt now. None of the pigs'll see us, I don't know about you lot but I think it was a jolly good idea. The paint, I mean. We'll go that way -" pointing off into the jungle - " And see if they're up on the mountain, hiding out of the sun. All right?"

Nods from the other boys. The Chief, gratified, struck off into the jungle with Roger a pace or two after him, the others following further behind.

* * *

Kitty and Simon had been watching over Ralph for the past few days; Kitty bringing water and dressings when it was necessary and Simon doing the nursing that came by instinct for him. Ralph's fever had shot up alarmingly one night so that his face was fiery, all sweat purged from it; and he was tossing and muttering restlessly, calling to the phantoms that he beheld just out of reach in the dark, cramped shelter. The twoother children had kept moving with water and cloths torn from the discarded cloaks of the choir, but nothing seemed to bring the fever down. Ralph had not been eating; he'd felt too bad for it, and to Kitty's anxious eyes he was thin and wasted, with hollows at the cheekbones and protruding ribs. His fair hair, darkened with sweat and the water they had been using to try and cool him down, fell across his face in wet strands. He was lying on the floor of one of the new shelters; though they had tried to make it comfortable with a carpet of palm fronds and a cloak for a blanket Ralph had disarranged the fronds with his tossing and turning, and had flung the cloak away in one of his more lucid fits, declaring that he was far too hot to gain any comfort from it.

The hunters were further along the beach; the distant glow of their fire pervaded the shelter and cast flickering red shadows on the palm-woven walls. Simon was bent over Ralph's prone form, sponging his forehead while Ralph murmured and resisted under his hands. Kitty, finding nothing to do and exhausted of the quiet, grave atmosphere, crossed over to the opening of the shelter and peered out, along the beach to where the hunters were.

Their fire was a large one; that was what made it visible from the shelters near the platform. On the mountain an answering beacon twinkled. Kitty could just spot two dark silhouettes moving around it - Samneric, she was sure. The twins seemed to have been designated official fire keepers.

Down on the beach the hunters sat around their fire, sharing whatever they had managed to find in the ravaged jungle. The pigs were nowhere to be seen; and going days without meat had irritated Jack, so that everyone except Roger gave him a wide berth. The Chief sat on a palm trunk they had dragged from the forest to the beach, face painted in patches of red, black and white. In one hand he held a half-eaten fruit, in the other a coco-nut shell of drink. Beside him, but seated on the beach, Roger ate morosely. The other hunters, tired after the day's exertions, sat or lay, for some boys, food in hands. Their spears lay, discarded by the firelight.

As Kitty watched, drawn in by the sight, Jack tossed his coco-nut shell aside with an air of impatience, wiping a hand over his mouth and standing up with a bound. In the flickering firelight the mask of his paint was highlighted and obscured at the same time, so that he was not Jack but some fantastic creature of the night. The hunters felt it and crowded closer to one another, while Roger sat motionless, a shadow beside his Chief.

Jack seemed to be making a speech; he waved the spear he had picked up in the sir enthusiastically so that the hunters grouped on the beach listened and cheered when he had done. Jack sat, leaning to speak to Roger, who answered close to his ear. The other boys watched for a while more, then went back to their eating.

A wheezing from back inside the hut made Kitty tear her eyes away from the scene on the beach. In one corner Piggy lay asleep, worn out. He had been only a reluctant nurse at best, preferring to go off with the littluns and leave Kitty and Simon to it. He came back to the shelter at nights, just like all the other little boys, who lay together in the only two shelters that they had managed to rebuild.

Piggy gasped again, half-turning. Finally, released by his ass-mar, he quietened down and curled back to his old position with a grunt. Kitty turned her eyes back to the scene on the shore.

"Kitty." The soft voice came from inside, where Ralph was. Kitty jumped, and whirled around as if she had been caught doing something wrong. Then she bent and reentered the shelter, meeting Simon's worried blue gaze.

"What is it?"

"Ralph - I've been trying to get his fever down for ages but it won't come. His leg's scabbing up, I don't know why he won't get better!"

Simon, usually so calm, had a sob in his voice as Kitty squatted down beside him. Ralph, unaware of both of them, kicked and disarranged the palm fronds further, moaning as his wound touched the floor and the uncertain, thin scab broke. A rivulet trickled out onto the sand, looking black in the dim light. The fair boy tried to sit up, and Kitty gently took his shoulders and pushed him back down.

"You see?" Simon scrubbed at his eyes with filthy, scratched fingers. "Nothing's helping. And he has to get better, because he's Chief and -"

Neither of them said what they were both thinking.

Putting an arm around Simon's shoulders and drawing him close for a hug, Kitty realised how thin the small boy was looking, and how his eyelids were drooping until he made himself come awake with a jerk. The older girl's heart went out to him.

"Listen, you get some sleep now. I'll stay up and look after Ralph."

Simon was uncertain. "You sure? Will you be all right?"

Kitty forced a smile. "I'll be fine."

Needing no further coercion, Simon crawled over to the opposite corner of the shelter from Piggy and drew up soem of the palm leaves under him. From the abrupt change in his breathing, Kitty could see that he had fallen immediately asleep.

She did not know how long she sat there; nor did she notice when the choir tired of their feast and crept back to the other shelter, those who were unlucky enough not to get a place in it slinking off to sleep on the beach for the night. Presently the cloth fell from her hand and she lost it in the darkness, but that was all right because she couldn't see where Ralph was either. He was nothing but harsh, extended breathing, a noise in the black of the shelter. Piggy was an occasional wheezy breath from the corner and Simon was soft, slow, steady exhalations. Soon Kitty fell into a sort of half-sleep, still keeping her sitting position, head drooping down to her chest. The noises of the jungle and the crashing of the waves on the reef receded behind the stillness that overwhelmed her.

Ralph suddenly broke the relative peace of the shelter by jerking into frenzied action. His back arched as he struggled furiously against the demons that tormented him; strings of intelligable babbling escaped his dry lips and he knocked over the coco-nut shell, sending water spilling over the sand and over Kitty's skirt.

She slept on.

Kitty was sitting in such a way that the morning sunlight, streaming through the entrance of the shelter and through the spaces between the palm fronds, pierced her eyes and turned the darkness behind them into a pool of red; widening, spreading. It intensified with the progress of the sun, finally shafting through her eyelids when they opened a crack and waking her.

The girl rubbed her eyes and uncurled her cramped legs from under her, wincing as the numb muscles caught and burnt. Brushing tangled dark hair out of her eyes she hunted around on the ground for the misplaced cloth.

Piggy gave a louder-than-usual grunt from his corner which rounded off into a fit of choking. The morning sun glinted off his glasses and into Kitty's eyes. Simon, curled up at the opposite end of the hut, shifted position, disturbed, but then settled back down, face serene in sleep. The noises of their breathing mingled with the gentle rumble of the breakers at low tide. Kitty gazed out of the shelter entrance. The tide had receded, leaving a strip of wet, golden sand stretching down to the tideline. This was dotted with nubs of rock from the reef, forming small rock pools that reflected the sun and shattered it into fragments which danced in the hot, pearly air. Seabirds, taking the chance, hopped from pool to pool, frequently jerking their beaks downwards to snatch a choice morsel, pounding the shells open on the rocks. Kitty felt herself slipping back into a doze, hypnotised with the veils of mirage that split the sea into shimmering strips.

Simon cried out shortly in his sleep, then subsided. Kitty noticed him briefly. Then it hit her.

Ralph wasn't making a sound.

The girl scrambled back on hands and knees, throwing sand everywhere in her haste to reach the unmoving figure on the ground, breath coming short and fast. Flames sprang up in her memory, the hungry billowing of a forest fire and the soft, muted light of pinpoints of flame - birthday candles.

Skidding to a halt beside Ralph, Kitty snatched up the black cloth and wildly hunted for the coco-nut shell of water. Her fingers closed on the empty, dry husk, the water it had contained long since gone into the sand. Sobbing for breath, she flung it away with all her strength and bent over the boy, wringing the cloth between her fingers, feeling the weakened fibres give and part.

Tears filmed over her eyes and made cobwebs of her vision. She dashed them away. The cloth tore under her hands.

Ralph was lying on his back, stirred-up sand speckling his filthy shirt and blue shorts. His face had lost its haunted, unseeing expression and his lips were parted slightly. There seemed to be new colour in his cheeks; they were faintly pink and the unhealthy flush had gone. The gash on his leg had crusted into a scab, dried blood forming faded rivulets on the brown skin.

Kitty discarded the cloth; she bent further forward. Was Ralph's chest moving? A morning breeze wavered into the shelter and the rags of Ralph's shirt fluttered, making it impossible to divine. A wild, sweet hope sprang up in Kitty's chest. She placed two fingers on one of the fair boy's limp wrists.

She could feel nothing.

To come this far - ! Kitty dropped the hand fast. Instead, she lowered her head and pressed her ear to Ralph's chest.

Under the cloth, the steady, firm beats of a heart.

The tears came back; and she did not try to restrain them. In the corner, Simon woke to the morning and the sight of Kitty's black head bending over Ralph's fair one, the girl shaking with happy sobs and Ralph breathing evenly, all traces of fever gone.

* * *

They went out onto the beach as soon as Ralph woke up from the healing sleep Nature had placed him in. Simon and Kitty went into the orchard to get fruit while Ralph sat propped up against the platform, the palm breezes playing with his fair hair.

The other two returned, laden down with food. Ralph smiled at them, experimentally testing out his injured leg as they approached. The younger children dumped the fruit on the sand and sat down beside their chief. Ralph picked up a yellow fruit and slid his fingers over the smooth, cool skin.

"I'm hungry!"

Kitty laughed, feeling the cares of the past few days slipping off her shoulders.

"You were out of it for ages."

Ralph grinned at them, digging his fingernails into the flesh of the fruit and tearing the skin off. Kitty and Simon watched as he bit into it hungrily, golden juice spilling down his chin.

They breakfasted leisurely off the fruit, then as the sun inched higher in the sky the heat drove them into the bathing-pool. Ralph sat in the shallows, itching to swim properly but under orders from Simon to rest the leg, which was still giving him pain. Kitty sat with him when she and Simon were not swimming; both of them did not talk but enjoyed the day as the tide foamed up the beach and intruded into the bathing-pool, sending tendrils of coolness into the warm water.

When the sun became too bright for anyone to ignore the hunters reluctantly emerged from the shelters and the scrapes they had dug on the beach and went to the orchard to eat. The Chief, obviously impatient to get on, marshalled the hunters the first chance he got and the whole lot of them departed for the jungle, spears over their shoulders. When Ralph saw this, he half-stood, sending a spray of bright droplets into the air.

"Where's that lot going?"

Kitty would not look at him; it was Simon who answered for her.

"Hunting."

Ralph swore. "Why? They should be working on the shelters!"

Simon continued, a faint flush that was not sunburn standing out on his cheeks.

"Because... When you were sick, we needed another chief. To take over, until you were well. So - we made Jack chief."

At the look on Ralph's face Simon said, hastily, "For a while. Until you got better. Not for good."

Ralph flopped on his back in the water, rubbing fiercely at the salt water that got into his eyes. "Well, as soon as they get back I'm calling an assembly. I was chief, and I'll be chief again. And there'll be no argument about it."

Guilt made Kitty speak out.

"It was me, it was my fault, Ralph. I made Jack Chief. Only I didn't mean to, I was worried about of you and it sort of just happened, I -"

Her voice trailed off. Ralph gave her one brief glance, then looked away.

The day seemed somewhat coloured after this; the three children lounged in the water with the preoccupation of those who have other things on their minds, joined later by Piggy when the rock pools were swallowed by high tide. Ralph was very quiet after their conversation, but brightened up after a while and joined in with a will. Kitty, though, couldn't help noticing a shade of coolness in his manner towards her.

The hunters stayed in the jungle; there was no sighting of them even when hunger drove the littluns playing on the beach to the orchard. The others lolled in the water, half-bored of the inactivity but with nothing to say to each other.

Several littluns had ventured into the shade of the platform, scrambling up its rocky flanks like spiders. There, they tumbled and shouted in the cooler loam, shaking the palm trees over each other and diving to avoid the shower of ripe coco-nuts. Some, once they had tired, ventured to the edge of the rock and lay on their stomachs, inching daringly closer and closer to the precipice while glancing under eyelids at one another to see how far they had gotten.

As quiet settled over the island one of the littluns cried out and pointed, half-falling and catching an edge of pink rock to save himself. The others gathered around and the group on the platform became a huddled, whispering, glaring group. Some of the smaller ones began to sob, and they started and stood en masse, eyes fixed to the thin thread of the horizon.

This behaviour had passed unnoticed by all in the bathing-pool except Piggy. The extended silence had bored the fat boy, and labouring under the supposition that, as usual, the others were leaving him out, he twisted away from them and his eye caught the cluster of littluns on the platform.

Piggy's glasses were splintered into pebble-dashed fragments by the droplets of water that had landed there. He took them off but was greeted with an indeterminate swirl of colour. Shaking the glasses to clear them, the water ran and made things worse rather than better.

By now, Simon had noticed the activity.

"What is it, Piggy?" His eyes were drawn to the platform and the whimpering littluns. Then they slowly, excruciatingly travelled to the vague, distant horizon.

The beach was very silent but for the whisper of the waves. Over the sound the children, sitting in water that was already beginning to cool down with the sun, caught a faint, tinny buzz of noise; very distant but getting closer. With the noise came, starkly backlit against the dipping sun, a swelling shape.

Ralph leaped into feverish action, standing and sending water everywhere.

"Plane! It's a plane!"

The beach was very quiet so that the engine-sound rose and fell and dipped into heavy, expectant silence. The older children, not taking their eyes off the shape, sprang out of the water, and with a sort of mute agitation began pulling on their tattered clothes. Some of the littluns, in scrambling down the sides of the platform, fell the last few feet but did not mind. No words were spoken but the little boys started up a thin, thready, babbling cheer.

Kitty finished pulling on her skirt and ran down the thin spit of sand half-swallowed by the sea, pausing by the water's edge. Everywhere was bathed in orange light from the sinking sun, and the wet hair got into her eyes for the umpteenth time. Savagely, she pushed it out of her face and squinted into the late afternoon sky. The plane was getting nearer so the engine noise rose in a steady throbbing, and instead of continuing in a straight path the plane veered off to the right, making two or three wide sweeps above the ocean before resuming the straight course.

"It's looking for us." Kitty did not know how she knew this, but the words spilled out and were spoken so softly they were only between her and the sea, swallowed up in the increasing roar.

Slightly startled with herself, the girl noticed that Simon had come to stand beside her, thrown into relative shadow by the light. The fair boy spoke softly, as he usually did, but somehow Kitty felt that his words were not meant for outside ears either.

"Our smoke. They'll see our smoke." His whole attitude was one of tension, every muscle clenched as if trying to reassure himself of a particular point.

Simon left Kitty with a terrible uncertainty - one that she must needs put to rest. Slowly, the girl turned back towards the rest of the island, letting her gaze travel up the beach, where the biguns formed a huddled, tight mob and the littluns ran across the sand, some waving at the sky, to the tangled, impenetrable jungle, then to the mountain and the sky above it.

The light was deceptive. It bathed everything in the most surreal shadows so, although the time for mirages was past the island was still saturated with the same unreality. The mountain stood, stark, unexcusing and the sky above it was blue bleeding into orange, unstained; without the slightest trace of smoke.

Kitty turned on the sand as an unusually large wave rolled in and splashed over her bare feet. For a second she seemed to be swaying with the wave; certainly the island was rocking around her and the air was thick with the pervading roar of the plane, fading and starting and fading again as the plane veered off and back.

Her gaze, wide-eyed; deathly, made Ralph turn too; he said nothing and nothing passed between them but started to run across the beach towards the fringes of the jungle, smashing through the knot of littluns and limping a little from his leg.

Piggy had noticed the mountain and took up a shrill diatribe.

"Our fire! There isn't no smoke up there, and the plane! It won't see us!"

The others left him on the sand, complaining resolutely. Kitty, galvanised into action with the other children, sprinted past Piggy and tore the glasses from his face, ignoring his feebly-clutching hands. Ralph had disappeared into the jungle and Kitty outstripped the others to crash into the fringe herself, cradling Piggy's glasses in one wet hand. Branches slashed at her face and she stumbled and fell headlong into the leaf mould as a creeper snaked itself around her ankle. Frantically, she flung the hand with the specs out, keeping it off the ground.

By the time she was upright again Ralph had disappeared into the tangled mass of creepers. Panting, and swearing under her breath she ran headlong at the calm, impenetrable jungle, relying on her momentum to propel her up the slope, batting creepers aside as she went. The hair stuck to her neck as the sun, unperturbed, flung down its rays, and the butterflies amazingly still danced over the flowers. They were too far from the sea to hear it by this time, but the sound of the plane pervaded the hollows of the jungle and they rang with it.

The ground tilted sharply upwards as they neared the peak of the mountain. Kitty, crawling through the maze and finding brief respites when she broke through onto a pig-run, suddenly found herself falling through the most matted part of the jungle and onto rock and scrubby vgetation. The glasses in her hand grated against the stone, but she dared not stop and check them. Ralph had gained the rock earlier than she had, and Kitty could see him by this time, unscreened by the creepers, staggering towards the summit.

The plane, completing a last sweep, passed directly over the island, so close that the sun glanced off its chrome-metal body and into Kitty's eyes. Then the pilot gunned the throttle and it surged off overhead, into the distance.

Ralph ran along the small flat table that was the summit of the mountain, bare feet pounding the rock. Just as he reached the edge and it seemed to Kitty, now climbing the last reach before the top, that he must fall, he stopped. His back was to her and the eerie sunlight silhouetted him sharply, a small figure looking out over an empty world. Face turned towards the sky and the plane that was now only a speck on the horizon, Ralph yelled after it, voice cracking.

"Stop! Come back! Come back! Come back!"

Kitty reached him as his voice trembled and dropped. Both of them had made the climb in bare feet, and Kitty noticed that hers were cut and bruised, mementoes of the hard, fast climb. They had not seemed to hurt before now.

Ralph turned, knocking against her so that she staggered and almost fell. The fair boy, face unreadable, made his way to the pile of blackened sticks that lay uselessly on the ground. Kitty followed, holding out Piggy's glasses as sort of a peace offering.

"Here, take the specs. Light the fire! Maybe the plane isn't so far away; it might see it - "

The look on Ralph's face stopped her short.

"The use that'll be! The plane's gone."

Suddenly he drew back a foot and kicked the dead, charred branches with all his strength. Ash flew everywhere, and Ralph reeled. It was then that Kitty noticed; the scab on his leg had opened again and blood trailed out onto the rock, spotting the grey stone and black cinders with colour. Shading her eyes with a palm she gazed out again at the featureless ocean and the horizon. The roar had diminished; the plane no longer visible. Kitty caught her breath in something almost like a sob.

The others from the beach started to come out of the jungle, the older ones more bewildered than anything while the littluns, with their uncanny intuition of calamity, began to cry as they took in the silent scene.

Piggy was last to come out of the jungle. The fat boy's world had been reduced to a series of featureless swirls, and Simon had his elbow, guiding him the last few steps of the way. Piggy was wheezing heavily, and as the two reached the top he tore his arm from Simon's grasp and sank down on the ground.

No one spoke and the silence stretched, punctuated by the crying of the littluns. Soon they all became aware of another sound, coming from the jungle. It was too far away to make out words but was recognisable as a garble of human voices.

Ralph's whole attitude changed; shifted away from the fire to the jungle below. His fists were clenched by his sides and he was straining to pierce the thick foliage with his eyes to get a glimpse of who was there.

As the chanting mass broke free of the jungle and came onto the rock the children on the mountain could see that the hunters had completely obscured their features under thick layers of paint, so that the eye was confused and struggled to differentiate between faces. The twins, their absence so sharply felt on the mountain, were climbing with the rest of them. A dark bundle swung from poles slung across their shoulders, and as the silent children watched them continue the front twin slipped and almost fell. A figure painted black and red - Robert? - grabbed hold of the pole and helped Samneric regain their pace.

As ever, Jack, red-haired and enthusiastic, headed the procession. Stripped down to the waist and every inch of exposed skin covered with patterns of red, black and white he leapt from rock to rock. In contrast Ralph stood motionless on the pinnacle, waiting for the procession. It was now close enough to hear the words of the chant.

"_Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Spill her blood! Bash her in!"_

As the hunters reached the summit of the mountain they began to notice the silent, watching figures waiting for them. Some of the smaller hunters looked uneasy but their chant never faltered.

Jack leapt up to the top.

"You should have seen us! We stole up on the pig - got in a circle! Then - "

The other hunters, ranged out on the stone, joined in as they toiled to the summit.

"The pig burst the ring - "

"We ran after!"

"Then we cornered it - "

"To beat and beat and beat!"

"Jack cut the pig's throat!"

At this last Jack proudly displayed bloodstained palms to the others on the mountain. The hunters took up a cheer, the echoes of which died away into the chant again.

"_Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Spill her blood!"_

By this time they were gathered en masse on the mountaintop. Jack signalled Samneric to drop the pig, which they did with alacrity. The pig landed with a soft thud. Its head had been almost completely severed.

Jack and the hunters now began to notice the sombre expressions of the small group on the mountain, and their unmoving stances, like chessmen on a board. Jack was disconcerted but the immediate glory of the hunt dispelled it.

"Honestly, Ralph, you should have been there! It was wizard, really it was!"

The hunters showed signs of beginning their chant again, but Ralph, stretched already to breaking point, half-turned and yelled at them.

"Shut up! Just shut up!"

They fell silent. Ralph faced Jack down.

"You let the bloody fire out!"

Jack refused to look away from Ralph's face.

"Just for a few hours - until we got a pig - it won't hurt."

He strode away, bent down and began to hack at the strips of cloth binding the pig to the stave. Ralph followed him, standing close to the pig so that he could not be ignored.

"There was a plane!"

The accusatory tone, and the voice that cracked on the last word struck the crowd like a blow. Ralph turned away, back to the lifeless fire.

"They might have seen us. We might have gone home..."

This was too much for Piggy, who began to yell shrilly, at that place he imagined Jack to be.

"Now d'you hear him, Jack Merridew? There was a plane! Didn't you lot hear it in the jungle? While you was hunting? We could have gone home!"

Jack took a step towards the fat boy, but Kitty also intervened.

"You did hear that plane, didn't you? How could you not, it was everywhere in the jungle. And you went on with your stupid hunting. When we could have gone home today!"

Kitty's face was deadly serious. She was holding Piggy's glasses in front of her like a weapon, clutching them so tightly her fingers hurt. Jack, ashamed, angry, trying to remember why he wanted to go home, suddenly lashed out with one arm, hitting her hand squarely. The specs were dashed out of Kitty's grasp and tinkled on the rock.

Piggy saw nothing but heard the sound of his glasses hitting the ground. Frantically, he scrabbled over.

"My specs!"

Jack and the hunters laughed at his efforts. Kitty's mouth twitched and she was immediately angry with herself.

Simon came over and gently picked up Piggy's glasses, handing them to their owner. Piggy felt them with awkward fingers.

"One side's broken."

He jammed them on his nose again, one eye looking out unseeingly through shattered glass. What he saw of the remaining merriment among the hunters enraged him.

"Just you wait!"

Jack laughed again and made another slash at the pig. The blood ran down the blade of his knife and onto his fingers and he held his hand at face level, watching the red trickle. Ralph suddenly stepped forward and smashed the arm down.

"That was a dirty trick."

Jack turned away, leaping down the incline to a lower point on the rock. What passed his lips was almost a shout.

"All right, all right, I'm sorry." He flashed a meaningful look at Piggy. "About the fire, I mean."

He drew himself up. "I apologise."

Ralph, who had been watching him thus far, turned away.

"Light the fire then."

Somehow unsatisfied with the response, but seeing the opportunity to consolidate the confrontation into solid action, Jack motioned to his hunters. They scrambled off the boulders and surged to the fire area, their shadows magnified by the setting sun and painting the rock black. Chattering, released from their silence, they scattered over the lip of the mountain and into the darkening fringe of trees. There was the crack of dry branches as they were pulled down and a sudden flutter of screeching birds from the canopy.

Ralph knelt, and absentmindedly stirred a hand in the soft, claggy ashes. A wind swirled by and grey flakes detached themselves, rising almost imperceptibly, a whisper on the breeze. The children were silent in the waning light. A flake of ash settled on Kitty's cheek and she shuddered automatically, feeling it dead on her skin.

Jack, unable to bear the heavy silence, stood at the edge of the summit and hallooed. The choir flocked back from the forest, filling the mountain with noise. They were carrying bundles of dead branches and there was a jovial, almost festival air around them.

The hunters crowded round with the fuel but Ralph would not get up. He was still stirring a hand in the dead, cold heart of the signal fire.

* * *

DONE!! This was finished in the school library :P I want to apologise for the really late update :( But pity me, people! I am embroiled in squash nationals! In fact, I have a match tomorrow :S Wish me luck! XD

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	9. Chapter 8 Beast from Water

**OK, so I should apologise for the inordinate amount of time it took me to get this chapter up! I can blether about exams (which have finished, and I am NOT thinking about January, when we get the results) as much as I like, the fact remains that this chapter is MAJORLY late. Sorry! :( **

**[Just a note, this chapter was instrumental in getting me a place in the college of my choice, which also happens to be the best college in Singapore!! You need a portfolio to apply directly, without needing O Level results, and this was one of the samples of writing I included. I am one happy person.]

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**Chapter 8**

**Beast from Water**

In the end, since Ralph refused to move to make way for the hunters and their fuel, they shifted the location of the fire to a place maybe three feet away and further from the edge of the mountain top. Kitty privately thought that the smoke would be rather harder to see from there but no-one was about to bring it up. The feeling of guilt hung heavy in the air, coupled with Ralph's heavy, accusing silence.

Jack inwardly raged, seeking to combat the wall of accusation but he could not think how. To divert attention from Ralph he talked, laughed and was energetic; helping his hunters to pile branches up on the site of the second fire until they had a sizeable mound. It was not as large as the first fire, but Jack judged that it probably would be enough. He stepped back from the pile.

To go up to Piggy and take the glasses from his face was something that Jack could not do, for no reason that he could understand. In reality, there was nothing he would like better than to snatch Piggy's specs off that fat face. He knew he was capable of it. The atmosphere, however, would not allow it. Standing, indecisive, by the new small fire Jack felt a blush of helplessness cover his freckled cheeks. The other children began to murmur, softly, sounding below the waves that were brushing relentlessly on the beach.

The dilemma was resolved when Ralph, to everyone's amazement, went up to Piggy and, without so much as a by-your-leave, took hold of his glasses. The fat boy cried out in alarm and tried to snatch them back but Ralph would not have it. He brought them to where Jack was standing and, seeming not to notice the choir leader, knelt again to light the fire.

A collective sigh resounded from the masses when they saw smoke rise from a bright pinpoint on the pile. Starved for so long, the new fire gobbled the fuel that had been set out for it. Still soundless, Ralph rose and brought the glasses back to Piggy, who snatched them and held them close before putting them on.

Now that the problem of the fire was solved Jack was comfortable again.

"Bill and Maurice - go and find some more branches. Get the fire hot and then we'll eat."

As they scrambled to it he squatted and finished the job of freeing the pig from its bindings. The others crowded around, eager, chattering. Even Ralph, in spite of himself, hovered on the fringes of the group as it surged around the fire and the pig.

Realising that it was no use trying to get anywhere near, Kitty retreated and flopped down on the rock, next to where Simon was sitting. She was excited, in spite of herself. The painful memory of the plane and the run up the mountain was already fading.

Simon hadn't even tried to join in the festivities. He was sitting hunched up, a worried expression on his face.

"Kitty... What do they think they're doing?"

The girl considered this for a while.

"Having a jolly good time, it looks like." She laughed.

Simon's face became even more troubled.

"No, I mean... That's not a signal fire. There's no green branches or anything on it. There's no smoke. It's a cooking fire. For the pig. And Ralph..."

He tried to convey what he felt about Ralph, now integrated in the group, laughing with the rest.

"He -"

Kitty was only half-listening. She was watching the fire and the hunters with a wistful air. Suddenly she scrambled up and rushed to join them as they tried to figure out how to cook the pig, leaving Simon behind.

The younger boy watched her go. His face was expressionless.

Jack had not the patience or the inclination to skin the pig completely, and they spent a while puzzling out how to cook it. In the end they beat the fire down until it was glowing red embers and rolled the whole carcass into them, turning it with spears periodically. The crowd quietened down as there rapidly became nothing to be involved in; soon hissing noises as skin crisped and the smell of cooking meat pervaded the still air. The hunters sat around, their spears in hand, looking self-important, while the other children whispered among themselves. There was a sense of suppressed excitement. Everyone's eyes kept flicking to the cooking pig.

They judged it to be done when the fire burnt low enough that they could coax the pig out with spears. Jack knelt beside it and brandished his knife, slicing through the crisped skin. Everyone watched breathlessly as the choir leader hacked off a sizable chunk and put it to his lips.

Jack smiled around the gathering.

"It's good!"

This triggered an immediate rush. The crowd surged forward, only barely contained by the globe of heat thrust out by the dying fire. A single plume of smoke wisped off into the sky like a last gasp as the pressing mass of bodies cut off the flames' sustenance.

The pig lay among the twigs and floating rock-dust; although it had been cooked it still maintained some semblance of its shape, a shape that rapidly disintegrated as greedy, clutching hands reached out and tore at it. Under their pulling and prodding skin tore and bones cracked, and were eagerly raised to mouths.

The inner circle that was closest to the fire and the food was composed mostly of hunters, with Jack presiding over it all, knife clutched in one greasy hand, a hunk of meat in the other. Even after the hunters had gotten what they wanted they still stayed around the fire, and those pressing in at the back set up a clamour.

"Oh, come on, give us a bit -"

"Me too, give me a nice piece -"

"Come on -"

Jack, magnanimously, gestured to Bill and Rupert.

"You two..."

They tore at the meat and began hurriedly passing portions over their shoulders until most of the crowd was fed. Only the smallest and lest assertive of the littluns huddled together at the back of the group.

Kitty, mouth watering, had snatched a piece as it was passed along. Not bothering to move out of the crush she ripped off large, greedy mouthfuls. The pig had not spent enough time broiling in the ashes and it was charred on the outside and nearly raw on the inside but it was steaming hot and it was meat and to Kitty it was heaven. Up till now, the children had subsisted on fruit, nuts and whatever crabs and fish they had been able to catch. It was poor fare and at the thought of meat, even half-raw, everyone's inhibitions crumbled. The clamour faded. All the sound left were the noises of people intent on their food, underlaid by the bourdon of the waves on the reef and under that the soft, slow hiss of the glowing embers.

Now that the swell of bodies around the pig had loosened a little Simon insinuated himself into the dispersing crowd. Only after he had distributed food to those littluns who ha been passed over did he retire to his old place and begin to eat.

By some oversight, intentional or otherwise, Piggy had been left out. He had not dared to join the crowd of clutching hands and mooned alone on a rock, one fat hand raised to his face, fingering his broken glasses, No one had passed food back to him, nor did anyone even seem to notice his prescence: for the children, Piggy was even more of a nonentity than the smallest littlun. Now he stirred on his rock and spoke through wet lips.

"Aren't I having none?"

Jack spoke through a mouthful of meat.

"You didn't hunt."

The crowd of children had mostly fallen silent at this exchange. Now some of them jeered, in support of Jack and derision at Piggy.

"No more you did!"

"Yah - Fatty!"

Piggy shrilly gave voice.

"No more did Ralph, no more did Simon!"

Ralph, flushing, buried his scarlet face in his meat. Simon, however, as if acknowledging the sense of Piggy's remarks, leaned across to the fat boy from where he was sitting and passed him what remained of his portion. Piggy snatched it and began to gnaw.

Jack had purposely meant to leave Piggy out; he felt he had lost, in some obscure way, the quarrel over the fire and this was meant as an assertion of authority. His annoyance surfaced and the blank look came into his eyes at Simon's disobedience. Rising abruptly and scattering the boys sitting around him, he threw his own bit of meat savagely down at Simon's feet.

"Eat, damn you!"

He stormed off, long-legged, as Simon hesitantly picked up the meat and began to eat. Jack's bolting blue eyes were completely obscured by the strange madness as he turned this way and that, seeking understanding from the crowd of boys.

"I hunted - I sneaked up - I cut its throat - I got you meat! Now you eat, all of you - and -"

He gesticulated with the hand that still held the bloodstained knife. Words failed him as he turned on the ashes, searching the faces of the others, which were carefully blank, respect etched in their frightened eyes.

"_I'm Chief -"_

Across from him, Ralph stood slowly. His leg was hurting him again, and he staggered as he flung his half-finished meat down on the ground. The atmosphere on the mountain became suddenly as if a current had passed from Jack to Ralph, and through the pack of seated children. The rocks rang with silence and they all became aware that the sun was nearly gone.

Ralph tottered; saved himself by grasping one of the standing rocks.

"What did you say?"

Across from him Jack leaned forward, his body taut, the hair falling across his face, half-hiding the mad eyes.

"I said: I'm Chief."

Ralph turned these words over in his mind for a while. Experience had taught him to ponder the opposition's remarks before committing himself to a statement. He chose his words carefully, and they dropped into the silent ring like pebbles into a mirror-like pond.

"Not any more."

The children watched, fascinated, at this rub of authority. Jack half-raised his knife, then abruptly brought his hand up, wiping the sweat from his forehead. A patch of blood was left by his stained fingers. When his voice came, it was almost a shout.

"Who says?"

He took a step forward menacingly. Ralph stood his ground.

"I say. The agreement was you were chief for until I got well. I'm not saying I'm happy with that, but the conch said it, I mean - We've got to listen to the conch, haven't we?"

Indecision flitted across Jack's face. Ralph continued, remorselessly.

"So we did. You were chief. And that's all right. The thing is, now I'm better, you know what's what. And what's what is that I'm chief again. And -"

The words came from Jack as if dragged.

"All right, all right!"

He squatted down by the carcass of the pig and began aimlessly hacking at it, head bent to conceal the water forming in his eyes.

"You can have - the conch - and be chief again. See if I care -"

He sawed off a portion; made his way over to the rocks that stood up from the mountaintop like broken teeth. One hump of stone stood out half as high again as the others surrounding it, and Jack vaulted up its side, concealing his anguish in fierce action. The hunters who had been sitting there scattered. The sun was slipping down in the sky such that it would soon be lost behind the mountain; it backlit Jack's sinewy body and transmuted it into shadow. Nothing of his face could be seen.

Ralph, worriedly, sought to make some concession. The sensation of winning an argument was, for him, always tempered with guilt.

"Of course you're still in charge of the hunters, Jack... What I mean is, no one could do that better, see? You were the one who got us meat."

He appealed to the masses that were perched on rocks, silently watching them.

"Right?"

The single word held a plea that was clearly discernable.

The hunters were seated in a single group, caps slid rakishly sideways, lolling on their spears. At Ralph's words, they stirred. Wishing to detract from their leader's embarrassment, they shouted from where they were.

"Yes!"

"It was Jack!"

The hunters edged cautiously to resume their old places on Jack's rock. As their cheers swelled they passed to the circle of sitting boys and soon the mountaintop was ringing. Portions of meat dropped to the ground, forgotten. Greasy hands clapped and the hunters banged their spears on the rocky floor. Gradually, the cacophony melded together until it was a steady rhythm of increasing intensity. The iridescent butterflies, startled by the continuous spear-pounding, took flight, and with them the sun sank a little more. Now only a thread of light separated the sky from the sea, and their faces were lit redly from beneath.

Roger was lolling against the red rock, lazily thumping his spear-butt. Now he started with sudden remembrance, laid his spear aside and reached under his square cap. Sometime during the course of the evening he had stripped the pig of a piece of hide. Rough eyeholes had been cut in the bristly black skin. Roger slipped the mask over his own face, leaping off the rock to land, squatting, holding the mask in place. Because there was so little light left the eyeholes were blank slits, and the pigskin gathered in front to a pointed snout. Roger stirred the dust under his feet as he broke into a shuffling dance. An ululation that pierced through the cheers issued from behind the mask.

Maurice shouted from where he sat.

"Kill the pig!"

Over the persistent tattoo of clapping and banging, the cheers gave the cry of the hunters birth.

"Kill the pig. Slit her throat. Bash her in."

Jack still sat morosely, a mere suggestion of a figure, formless in the growing darkness. He did not join in the chant, but raised his half-eaten meat to his lips and savagely tore off a mouthful.

"Kill the pig. Slit her throat. Bash her in."

Below him, Roger cavorted in the pig-mask, acting out the dying animal in the clear space by the fire.

"Kill the pig. Slit her throat. Bash her in."

Kitty was chanting with the rest, exhilarated. Ralph sat off by himself, silent. The chant gathered intensity.

"_Kill the pig. Slit her throat. Spill her blood. Bash her in."_

Suddenly, Ralph leapt up, almost colliding with Roger.

"Be quiet! Quiet!"

The chant swooped, faded and died. Ralph was wadding his filthy shirt between his fingers; his fair hair fell over his eyes. One by one, the children around the dead fire turned to face him. Roger stripped off the pig-mask and appeared, sweaty and disheveled. Ralph glared around at the masses.

"Get down on the beach. I'm calling an assembly."

*

Soon Ralph was nothing more than a slight, grey patch in the dim light as he slipped into the dark recesses of the jungle. Jack, eyes bolting, stared after him. He half-opened his mouth as if to say something; to call Ralph back. Then a set look came over his face as he realized how public a display of weakness this would be. Standing slowly, he motioned to his hunters to follow them down.

The mood was no longer festive. The sun had waned and was now a thin pinkish stain floating on the horizon. When one looked around now there was no longer the wash of gold that had painted the other children's faces and bodies moments ago. Shadows now lay in pools; in eye sockets, in the shallow dips of ribcages. One realized that the sun had gone, so slowly as to have been imperceptible, and that everyone now had been painted by night in the space of a few seconds so that the eye was boggled and frightened by this sudden transformation. Several littluns made small noises under cover of the darkness.

Somehow, they tripped, stumbled and pushed their way down the jungly slopes. The leaves, stacked at different heights and held there by the wayward profusion of branches, caught and held what little light was left so that none pierced the canopy and reached the children on the forest floor. They blundered about in the dark, and every so often they caught a glimpse of one another, faceless above white shirts. To their quivering, fearful minds the beast of myth was lurking just out of reach, and the sight of others who they knew was terrible by night and threw them into turmoil.

One by one they came out of the thickest parts of the jungle to look down on the bay. The platform was invisible. Its rock needed the touch of sunlight to reveal its pinkness. The stars were out above the dwindling strip of sunset and they silvered the waters of the lagoon and delineated the crests of the breakers on the reef.

Ralph was waiting on the platform for them, silent on the Chief's log as they appeared, scrambling up the sides of the great rock like spiders. From the starlight and the pinprick of a new moon, they could see he rested the conch on his knees, the shell almost transparent, even in the darkness.

He waited until they got settled; shadows massed on the palm trunks on the platform. The night bristled with spears along the trunk where the choir sat. Piggy, desiring the safety of being near Ralph but at the same time fearing his anger, timidly sat on the sand, not too near the Chief's log, but not too far away.

The waves pounded on the reef. At night they did not possess the reassuring quality of daytime. Under the gauze of mirage, the waves provided a certainty. Their rhythm underlay the treacherous region between them and the sky, where the sun would baffle the eye. At night, everyone present noticed the difference in their sound. The sky was dark; there were no more mirages, yet the waves continued to beat against the reef, sound magnified by the night. Instead of a comfort, the rush and swell now carried a threatening note.

Ralph was silent, an unmoving shadow. The wave-sound pervaded the platform and shook the palms. Their fronds clattered together with a rustle that sounded very loud in the quiet. A few littluns began to whimper. Jack, unable to bear the combined effects of the sea and Ralph's silence, accusing once more, drew his knife and began to tap with it on his spear. He stared straight ahead, down at the sand.

The sound of knife on wood jerked Ralph out of his thoughts. He looked around the circle, his gaze searing everyone in turn. They muttered and turned away from the fair boy under cover of darkness. Whatever their thoughts on the events of the day, Ralph was still Chief, and he had the conch on his lap.

"Listen, everybody."

Ralph's first words shattered the silence. The moonlight silvered things in unexpected ways, and from his vantage point on the Chief's log he could make out some children, but not others. Kitty was sitting on the log to his right; she had flinched when he spoke as if she had been expecting condemnation to pass his lips. Simon, his pale hair glowing like the sand, had leaned forward at Ralph's first words, face intent.

"Things are breaking up. I don't understand why. It all began well."

Jack was still knocking his knife against his spear in that infuriating manner. Ralph felt the sound invading his mind, threatening to wipe away all that he wanted to say, all he had so carefully prepared.

With a supreme effort he forced himself to continue.

"Then people started forgetting what really mattered."

A tremor ran around the circle, less perceptible than the waves on the reef. There was muttering, and whispering. Ralph felt the need to clarify, to try and trace the progress of things since that first day.

"I mean, take the shelters. They started well, just like everything else. Then people started bunking off. Not working. We've only got three shelters at the moment, and one of them's a real wreck. It'll fall down at any moment. And if that does happen, someone could get buried. Hurt."

Now guilt was making its round of the circle. Ralph put one hand down to feel the puckered scar on his leg, and their eyes were drawn there and held.

"The shelter's so bad because only me and Simon worked on it. All you others, you were playing. Hunting, too."

Jack looked up suddenly; Ralph's eyes were not on him and he subsided.

"At the moment, not all of us sleep in shelters. They're just not big enough. We can squeeze most of us in but there're always a few who sleep on the beach. And that's not healthy. I remember, that meeting on the second morning we all agreed to work until the shelters were done. What happened to that?"

Uneasiness rounded the circle with the wind; some children felt the cold breeze on their skin and gathered various rags closer.

"And another thing. Remember after the storm? All the fruit got blown down from the trees. I said that day that we ought to collect it and get it together. Separate the ones that were still good from the rest. Then we'd have had fruit those days before the trees recovered."

He took a breath.

"But it didn't get done. While I was sick, I mean – I expected things to go on as usual, but they didn't. The fruit was left to rot. And now we've got to sift through all that mess to get any food. The ones on the trees aren't ripe properly yet. And yet people still eat them, and you know what that means."

There were a few sniggers at that. Ralph, hands tight around the conch, followed the argumentative thread into a new topic.

"And another thing. You remember we agreed that we'd use those rocks by the sea as our lavatory?"

The sniggers escalated. Ralph could see the hunters nudging each other in the moonlight. He raised his voice slightly to counter the derision. Annoyance threatened to rob him of words. Did they not see that this was not fun, but meant to be serious?

"Well, that was sensible. The tide cleans the place up. But now it's different. People seem to use anywhere. I mean, by the fruit and things – you know it's scattered everywhere. By the stream. So if you're taken short –"

There was a general howl at this; shadows moved and jostled each other off the palm trunks in their mirth. When it looked as though the hilarity might subside, Jack said something to the hunters and their laughter redoubled.

Ralph found that his fingers were clenched painfully around the shell.

"Be quiet, all of you! Be quiet! What I was saying is, if you're taken short you'll jolly well go along to the rocks. Doing it near our fruit – that's dirty. And our water. That's really dirty."

He felt the laughter threatening to swell again.

"I said it's dirty!"

Breathing hard, Ralph hefted the conch. The moonlight caught it and it shone like bleached bone.

"And the last thing. About the fire."

The atmosphere was suddenly electric; all around the platform shadows were still. The littluns stopped playing in the sand to listen.

"When I was Chief, before the storm, I said again and again that the most important thing here is the fire. Can't you see that? If we let the fire out, we might as well die."

He paused to brush the fair hair off his face.

"Jack – you were Chief for a while. And you ought to have seen to the fire. After all –"

Jack half-rose. Ralph regarded him calmly and he sat back down.

"The choir was meant to be looking after the fire. We agreed that right at the start. But you didn't. All you wanted to do was hunt. And now the plane's gone."

A cloud had drifted over the moon; darkness came swiftly and totally. There were stirrings and one or two uneasy cries. The plane was indeed gone.

Ralph waited for the moon to reappear before he continued.

"Well, now I'm Chief again. And we're going to figure out what's what. About the shelters, and the fire, and all that. And about people, too."

Murmurs of incomprehension from the darkness.

"People are getting scared. The littluns… You biguns, maybe not so much, but the fear's still there. Remember on that first day, the snake-thing –"

The snake-thing, and a small boy with a mulberry-coloured birthmark and a toy plane. Kitty hugged her knees. The wind suddenly seemed stronger, knifing through her torn shirt.

"Well, we all know there isn't one. You couldn't get one on an island like this. It's a good island. But you littluns, I hear you at night. You talk in your sleep, you cry. Like you're having a bad dream, and the dreams are about the beast, right?"

Stirrings from the littluns on the sand; there were murmurs and a few whimpers.

"So now we're going to sort out what's what. We're going to decide on the beast once and for all. Anyone who wants to speak can. I'll give them the conch."

The assembly was deadly still. The children, sitting on logs that were gradually becoming colder and colder with the rising wind, shrank back from the conch as Ralph held it out. Somehow, to discuss the beast under darkness would only serve to draw it out. Everyone present was conscious of the jungle behind them, and how much of it was impenetrable to even the hunters. Might not a beast be waiting there?

The triangle of biguns was silent, but the littluns on the ground gave voice to their fear. There was a small scuffle and one of their number was pushed to his feet to take the conch.

With a start, Kitty recognised the stocky little boy from the beach of the first day. Now, he had discarded most of his school uniform, keeping only his shorts, which were still held up, rather incongruously, with elastic suspenders. The sun had coloured his face brown, and as it had bleached his mousy hair as well the effect was comical rather than otherwise. He cradled the shell when Ralph put into his hand, and looked around the assembly with none of the confidence of the first day. His face was twisted and he was about to cry.

He stood there mute until someone shouted from the darkness.

"What's your name?"

The assembly liked that; the chant was taken up by the older children, the hunters banging their spear on the ground and sending up puffs of sand.

"What's your name? What's your name? What's your name?"

This storm of recognition took the littlun's voice away; he muttered and scuffed the sand with small, bare feet. It was only when Ralph rose and shouted for quiet did the chant die down.

He leant close to the littlun.

"Now, then. What's your name?"

"Percival Wemys Madison, the Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony, telephone…"

His voice was taut with impending tears.

"Telephone…telephone…"

Dropping the conch, Percival sank to the ground, aimlessly stirring the sand around. There was an interval of uneasy silence, then the choir erupted in motion and Harold was pushed off onto the sand. He landed with a bump, tried to regain his old position and was kept away by a combination of hands and spear-butts. Resigned to this, he leapt across the sand on all fours, surprising Percival as he squatted down in front of him, clumsily clowning. An ululation followed him as the choir joined in the game. The faces Harold was making were so grotesque that the littlun forgot his chagrin and laughed. Before long, the assembly was howling.

Jack suddenly rose from his seat and stalked across the platform. The children quietened as his tall, painted figure passed them. He knelt down and grabbed Percival's shoulder, bending his head so the littlun could speak in his ear.

Ralph sat. By allowing the choir to draw the story out of Percival he felt, in some obscure way, he had lost control of the meeting. As Jack straightened to rejoin the hunters, Ralph called out across the silent children.

"What did he say?"

Jack's answer was short.

"He says there's a beast. Comes out of the sea."

The silence thickened, if that was at all possible. Behind Ralph, Piggy rose to peer out to the ocean.

Kitty felt the crashing of the waves pound into her brain. There was nothing much to see apart from the reflections of the moonlight, but they were enough to make the sheer vastness of the ocean obvious. The water was black. Kitty thought back to a day at a school she could hardly remember now. The world's deepest ocean – the Pacific? She wasn't sure. Her imagination took her below the suck and rush of the surface, down, down and further. A beast might well lurk in those inky depths.

Someone spoke, softly. Nevertheless, it broke the spell. Heads turned towards Maurice. He was staring at nobody but everyone was watching him.

"My daddy says they haven't found all the animals in the sea yet."

A tremor ran around the seated children.

"My daddy says there are those things – what're they called – that make ink, and are hundreds of feet long, and eat whales whole."

"A squid couldn't come up out of the water."

"Yes it could!"

"No it couldn't!"

No one was sure, and not being sure they made up for this with volume. Ralph stared in horror. The assembly looked like breaking up. Only Piggy and Simon sat in their old positions.

"Quiet! All of you!"

By degrees peace was restored. Then a new idea came out of the darkness.

"Maybe he means it's some sort of ghost."

"Maybe that's what the beast is, a ghost."

Staring solemnly at the assembly out of his one glass, Piggy spoke.

"I don't believe in no ghosts. Ever."

From the choir log Jack shouted.

"Who cares what you believe, fatty!"

The assembly erupted in derision.

"Yah, fatty!"

"Piggy!"

Under cover of the noise, Simon had picked up the conch and stood. His soft voice was halting.

"Maybe…there is a beast."

Kitty had joined in the laughter at Piggy. Now she was shocked back into herself by Simon's quiet statement. Simon believed in beasts, and ghosts? Something seemed to crawl in her stomach and under her skin, and anger at Simon, standing there, a white figure in the moonlight, the conch in his hands, surged.

"You're batty."

She knew the weight of disgust that was in her voice; she had tempered it like that on purpose. She saw Simon reel under this verbal onslaught and felt something like triumph. It was a betrayal, this quiet affirmation of a fact they were trying to avoid.

Simon rallied; though his face twisted for one brief moment.

"What I mean is…maybe it's only us."

There was a moment of stunned silence, then hoots of derision followed. Simon's newest idea was so out of place, so wildly fantastic, that mockery was a must. Under the cascade of voices, Simon's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something more. Then he handed the conch back to Ralph and went to sit on the fringes of the crowd.

Ralph clutched the shell close. His mind was reeling and he felt any rationality, any coherence of thought with which he had framed this meeting's outline, depart.

"We should have left all this for daylight. We're tired. We'll get this settled and then go back to the shelters."

Standing, he crossed the triangle and handed the conch to Jack.

"What do you think? About ghosts, I mean?"

Jack ran his fingers absently over the shell. He stood and faced the crowd.

"I think, I've thought from the start, that the beast's an animal. Somewhere on this island. Watching us and never being seen. And if it is, me and my hunters'll find it and kill it! We got you meat, we'll explore the island back to front and of we find the beast we'll kill it!"

Scattered cheers. Ralph snatched at the conch, but Jack held it firmly.

"If it's an animal, that's what we'll do. But if it's a ghost…I don't know. I mean, the plane crashed on this island. The pilot, all the grown-ups, they must have been killed. And their bodies are here somewhere. In the sea. What about their ghosts?"

"That's enough!" Ralph grabbed the conch back from Jack, the latter's fingertips leaving dark smudges of paint on the white shell. "If you don't know you don't, you don't have to scare everybody like that!"

Jack looked murderous, but Ralph was already crossing to Roger. Somehow, obscurely, he felt that before he took a vote the oldest childrens' opinions should be heard.

"What about you?"

The dark boy had painted his face and upper body with black. He merged into the shadows, only visible because of the glimmering conch in his hands. As usual, he wasted few words.

"Jack's right." He handed the conch back to Ralph and sat back down.

Kitty took the shell in her hands when Ralph passed it to her. It felt lighter than it had on that first day, as if it had been hollowed out under the pounding of many voices.

"Before, when we'd just arrived, I didn't believe in the beast. You know, that first meeting we had. I thought a beast wouldn't be able to live on this island. But –"

She had an urge to inject something about the red fruit Simon had shown her, so long ago. Some part of her knew it was significant, knew that it had been meant to help her understand. But whenever she tried to think what the understanding might be it slipped away from her. Simon's attempts to define mankind's essential illness receded far into an abstract plane where she had no power to go. The beast was immediate, the beast was understandable, therefore the beast must be real.

"Now I don't think so. I mean, maybe things are different here. Maybe there are ghosts on this island. Maybe there is a beast in the sea."

Ralph was watching her incredulously.

"At first, I thought not. But I don't know."

She let Ralph take back the conch; the fair boy looked around at all the uneasy faces, searching for one, at least, who was not already more than half-believing in the beast.

He found it in Piggy. The fat boy seemed to be teetering on the edge of silence. His face was scrunched up with the effort of finding words to say and he gesticulated uselessly with chubby hands. However, Piggy's foray into volubility was checked by his asthma; he began to wheeze violently and any forthcoming insight was choked off.

Finding no other older children to whom he accorded the ability to formulate an opinion, Ralph faced the masses and spoke his piece.

"Well. Now I'll say this. I didn't believe in the beast at the start. And I don't now."

He tried to put into words the uncertainty that was creeping up his spine, blanking out all rational thought and preconceived notions, but the words to fit the meaning eluded him. Besides, what the company needed now was reassurance, the firm word of a Chief that their fears were unfounded. For the first time, Ralph found himself wishing that someone else had been chosen. How was he to calm the muttering crowd when he himself almost agreed with them?

"I mean, if you look at it logically, it's impossible. Ghosts don't exist." He was making Piggy's argument for him; at this the fat boy, though in the throes of a coughing fit, nodded vigorously and made a few ineffectual gestures. "We'll take a vote now - on ghosts I mean - and then go to bed.

Who thinks there may be ghosts?"

There was a beat of silence, then the hands went up. Ralph counted.

"I see."

Piggy's breathing had cleared by now; seeing Ralph put the conch down he lurched forward and snatched it. He was trembling and his fingers shook, but he held the conch steady.

"I didn't vote for no ghosts! Remember that, all of you -"

Jack leapt to his feet.

"You shut up, you fat slug!"

He tried to wrestle the conch out of Piggy's hands, but the fat boy held on with a tenacity that surprised everyone. Ralph, knowing that things ha gone far enough, jumped up as well and faced Jack.

"Jack, let him speak, he's got the conch -"

Jack rounded on him.

"And you shut up, who are you anyway, just sitting there telling people what to do? You can't hunt, you can't sing -"

"I'm Chief, I was chosen!"

"Why should choosing make any difference? Just telling people what to do -"

"Piggy's got the conch!"

Jack looked at him scornfully.

"That's right, favour Piggy as you always do."

"Jack!"

The hunter's voice sounded in mockery.

"Jack! Jack!"

Ralph desperately tried to marshal his fading wits. All around him the children were intent on this new conflict.

"The rules, you're breaking the rules!"

"Who cares?"

This cavalier dismissal struck Ralph full force; he tottered, then with a supreme effort faced Jack.

"Because the rules are the only thing we've got!"

Under the paint Jack's face was flushed, and his eyes were bolting and opaque, madness filming over them like a cataract.

"Bollocks to the rules! We're strong - we hunt! If there is a beast, we'll hunt it down and beat and beat -"

With a whoop, he leapt out of the ring and off the platform. The hunters followed their leader and so did most of the other children. For a moment the platform was full of milling shadows and discordant cries, then they were off down the beach in one solid mass, splashing at the tideline and sending silver droplets into the air.

Kitty ran with the rest, feeling the thick exhilaration entering her lungs with every ragged breath. She felt the wet sand pounding under the feet of many, their footfalls merged into a single frenzied rhythm. She felt the seething mass of humanity that hemmed her in from all sides, cutting her off, giving her safety, limiting the fear by compounding it with a score of other similar fears, and sublimating it through their pores, with their flowing sweat. Fear was all about them like an odour, but in its sheer magnitude it became not fear but something else - what? - that none there could identify but grasped at hungrily. Now notes of the hunters' chant were weaving themselves into the wordless ululations, and as tiredness began to overtake them the solid, coordinated mass of children deteriorated into a random scuffle. They slowed down and eventually stopped. Littluns who had unsuccessfully tried to keep up had had sand kicked into their faces by the tail end of the mob, and they came staggering up the beach howling.

The older children looked at each other under cover of the darkness, breathing hard, with something like shame. Then, as if an order had been given, they dispersed quietly and aimlessly, some ending up near the shelters and others nearer the platform. Not one of them dared to break the fringe of palm trees that screened off the jungle.

* * *

**According to Sam's wishes I am not going to express joy here. Nope. Won't say how pleased I am to have FINALLY finished this chapter. I wanted to get it up before going to Scotland (tonight!) to visit the relatives... I just realised with this chapter I have passed the half-way mark for this fic! :D As the outline stands there are about 14-15 chapters.**


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